Family Traditions
by nemain13
Summary: What if Marshall did follow family tradition but didn't go into Witness Protection? What if Mary followed a family tradition of her own? Would they still wind up together? Join me if you're brave. Very much rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**What if Marshall followed in his family tradition but didn't wind up in Witness Protection after all? What if Mary had followed in her family tradition, too? This is an alternate universe, but these two are still drawn together, as of course, we know they always must be. Very much rated M.**

**They're not mine. I'm just messing with them. A lot. Come with me, won't you?

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Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future. ~Gail Lumet Buckley

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Once upon a time there was a little girl named Mary who loved her father very, very much. He went out one day to get something at the store, and then... then, well, he came back home again. It was the event that changed her whole life.

-----

Mary Shannon woke up sweaty and naked, but not what she'd call good sweaty and naked, relaxed or refreshed as she would have felt had that feeling come from having brought home one of her favorite recreational playmates. Instead, the air conditioning had gone out in this horrid little hellhole she was currently crashing in, and she'd been too tired last night to go down and kick the crap out of the super to make him do his job. It had been easier to peel down and fall on the mattress under the ceiling fan for a few hours before her meetup. Anyway, if things went to plan, she would only be here a few more days, tops.

She rolled over, stared at the slow spiral of the fan, and thought about the day before her, mentally laying the groundwork needed for this current stage of the plan. Why McNeil had wanted to meet in a coffee shop, she was never going to understand, but at least it would be cleaner than a bar or a back alley. She sighed, rose, and headed for the avocado-green tiled shower. _God, this place is just a dive. I cannot wait to get out of here and back to some acceptable living conditions._ The pipes clanked ominously, but she got cleaned up quickly, wrapping the towel around her hair. As she leaned over the cabinets by the sink to get another to dry off her body, reflected in the small mirror was a tattoo across the base of her spine and almost a handsbreadth toward her hipbone on either side. It was shaped like an elaborately drawn pair of wings.

Mary was dressed, groomed, and headed out of the tiny efficiency apartment in time to arrive a good fifteen minutes early for the meeting. In her experience, this was always a good idea. Besides, McNeil struck her as being a squirmy little bastard, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she shouldn't trust him. That instinct had kept her alive and well, alive and free now for many a year, so she'd learned to listen to it. She felt the comforting weight of the Natchez Bowie knife in her boot, its foot-long blade strapped in its sheath to her leg. _Not exactly dainty, but well, impressive as all hell if McNeil fucks with me._ She did not, as a general rule, carry guns. That was one thing Daddy had always been very specific about. Guns would get you killed.....

She entered the small coffee shop and headed for the order counter. There was no sign of McNeil, but there were a few other patrons scattered around. _Hogging all the good chairs, I see._ She ordered a coffee, and while she was waiting, she let her eyes scan the room. There was a gaggle of teenage girls in a sunny spot near the front windows, the floor near them piled with shopping bags. Their hands were waving animatedly and they were drinking frothy-looking confections out of big mugs. Over near the wall in a booth was a dark-haired woman about her own age, book in hand, sipping a mug of tea. She had a large battered tote bag sitting beside her, and she was wearing a shirt from one of the local high schools. _Has to be a teacher refugee, _Mary smirked. _ She has that worn and frazzled look about her._ Two business men were apparently trying to persuade each other to purchase products from one another at a small table near the front, ties loosened, tones serious. A tall, slender guy with a netbook had taken the seat she would have preferred in the back corner, sipping something as silly-looking and frothy as the selections the high school girls had made and occasionally chuckling to himself at whatever he had going on in the electronic world in front of him. And disturbingly, Mary's eyes made two cops sitting in the booth nearest the front door.

They were detectives because they were in suits. One was a lean African-American, and he was finishing up a pastry of some kind and hassling the one he was sitting with, a blocky boxer-built blonde. As the teenager behind the counter slid Mary's beverage to her, she surreptitiously edged away from the pair of cops and back toward the computer geek. He glanced at her when she sat down, and it was the unwelcoming territorial scowl of the technonerd whose private domain was being invaded. He turned the little netbook on the tabletop just a degree away from her. She flashed him a brief politely apologetic smile. _'Scuse the hell outta me, fella. Surf that porn all you want. I assure you I don't care. Shame, that, though. He's not bad looking... On another day, I'd enjoy flirting just a little just to watch his social skills deteriorate. _ She made sure she was still near the emergency exit and bathrooms, just in case, made sure she could hear the cops' conversation, but she didn't feel like they were here for her. She sipped and watched.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the two detectives got up and walked out continuing to hassle each other. She sighed silently in satisfaction. That should silence the warning bell that had been dinging since she walked in. She pulled out her cellphone to glance at the time. McNeil would be along any minute now. _So why did she still have that nagging itch at the back of her consciousness..._

She looked over the patrons again. Same people occupied in the same activities. The teacher was deep into her book and tea. She had a look of weary bliss on her face. The business guys were finishing up their conference and gathering jackets. They were totally absorbed in the universe of "the deal." The high school girls had just gotten lemon bars from the server and were giggling unsubtly behind their hands because they thought he was cute. TechnoNerd was typing something sporadically as if he were waiting for a response and then returning his own. _Ah, the little lamb must be on FaceBook or MySpace or something. How nice. I bet there he is a god...._ The thought amused her, and she snickered a little into her coffee.

The door opened, and her instincts went crazy, trying to attach the vague threat she felt hovering to a tangible source. It was, however, only a tiny wizened little lady carrying a very small similarly wizened dog. The people at the counter apparently knew her because nothing was said about the canine companionship, and she, too was soon ensconced in a booth with a hot beverage.

_What is tripping my alarms? Just the fact that those cops were here? Or is McNeil bringing friends with him? _She shifted the boot with the Bowie knife in it. _Be the last time McNeil does something stupid...._

The little bell on the shop door chimed again and in walked McNeil. His short frame was slightly hunched in that way of his that never failed to remind her of a rabbit. His eyes darted around the room until they settled on her. She gave him a little finger wave. Relief was plain on his face, and he scurried over to where she sat and wrapped his hands around the back of the bench as though it were a flotation device and the ship was going down.

"Jesus, McNeil. Why don't you go get something to drink? We have time, and you need to calm down."

He continued to stare at her a moment longer, and then he nodded, scrambling back to the counter before returning with a clear plastic cup of lemonade. He fiddled with the straw a moment before taking a long sip.

"Now," Mary said. "Better?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I guess. Sure. Better."

Mary fought the urge to roll her eyes. If McNeil wasn't so very good at what he did and so completely trusted by her uncle, John Patrick Shannon, she probably would have kicked his ass long ago. He was such a child about some things. She was almost positive she didn't want to hear whatever was coming next._ I was right, dammit...._

"It's just so hot out. And I don't like this place or this heat. When are you going to be ready to do the job so we can get the hell out of here?" His voice was a strident little whine, like a tiny little buzzsaw ripping through her patience.

"McNeil, you know as well as I do that you are the deciding factor as to when things happen. I am waiting on you to set me up. Once you get me the intel, things can begin to...move along in a manner agreeable to everybody concerned."

McNeil's bottom lip stuck out petulantly. "Well, all I'm saying is that if you intend to hook this big fish, you're going to have to work it, honey. He's cagey as hell, suspicious of everybody. I know you're good, and all, but..."

Mary smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes. "You have no idea. Look, you let me worry about the details. Just get me an intro, make sure you use the information I gave you about me, and I'll do the rest. By this time in two months, you could be in Alaska on a glacier or something."

"Okay, okay. Look, I brought you some extra information about him," McNeil dug in the retina-searingly yellow messenger bag he always carried, propping it up on the table next to his lemonade. Anybody could have seen it coming.... She held her hand up, even, to prevent it, but it was like an act of nature. The bag toppled the lemonade right into her lap, ice, yellow liquid, slices of fruit and all.

"Shit!" She leaped up, brushing at herself with a handful of napkins.

"Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry." McNeil's little rabbit body was quivering with a combination of fear and remorse. His face flushed red, the color creeping up from his neck and clashing horridly with his wild auburn hair. He pushed his glasses up his nose in a nervous gesture and grabbed napkins to try to blot the spill on the table.

"Never mind, McNeil. Just let me step into the bathroom a minute and see if I can sop up some of this mess with some paper towels." She strode toward the ladies' room and TechnoNerd looked up at her, ran his gaze over her sodden front, and gave her a brief smirk. _Careful buddy. I've got a wicked temper and a foot-long blade in my boot...._

She dabbed at herself, pressing and drying the fabric between layers of paper towel, and when she thought she had most of the sticky-sweet beverage off her, she turned to head back out to finish with McNeil. McNeil was still sitting at the table clutching his satchel, looking at her with that same mixture of fear and remorse. She had no sooner passed through the arch leading from the restrooms and storage area in the back than she heard an all-too-familiar clicking sound and felt a cold steel muzzle press against the middle of her back.

"Well, hell...." She slipped her hands slowly up in front of her, careful not to make any gesture that could get her dead.

She was aware of the tea-sipping teacher also training a gun on her, too, and she felt the muzzle behind her leave her spine as she was turned and forced face first against the wall. Her mind raced, trying to work the options for escape, trying to chain down her fury with McNeil at being betrayed. She covered it with a smartass comment. "So you're not TechnoNerd, then."

Laughter, the same laughter she'd heard earlier from the booth in the back corner, barked briefly as his strong hands cuffed her. "Oh yeah, Mary Shannon. Make no mistake about it. I am definitely TechnoNerd. But I'm also a US Marshal and you're under arrest. I think that's probably the important bit right now." He ran his hands lightly down her sides. "Are you carrying anything?"

She turned her head, caught his bright blue eyes, and smiled a wicked, deliberately flirtatious smile, "Isn't half the fun in looking to see?"

He smiled back easily, raised one eyebrow in a way that was full of a mischief she didn't usually associate with law enforcement. "Guess we can do it that way, too." He ran his hands professionally, impersonally down her legs. He stilled when his fingertips encountered the hilt of the Bowie knife at the edge of her boot top.

"Mary, Mary, Mary," he said, pulling up her pantleg to reveal the hidden weapon. He tugged it free of its sheath and the foot-long steel blade shone under the fluorescent lights. He whistled.

"What can I tell you, Marshal? A girl has to be so awfully careful these days..."

He laughed that same appreciative short laugh again, and turned the knife to look at the worn hilt, the razor edge she kept on it. Blue, blue eyes cut to hers across the blade for a moment, and then he pulled the sheath off her leg and slipped the knife back into it, handing it to a uniform who had appeared while he was searching her.

"You know what, Mary? I don't think you can lay claim to the title girl."

"What? Why not? I've got all the required equipment, I assure you." She smiled, just a little, shifted to cock her hip just a little, knew it wasn't touching her eyes.

"I don't think any woman who is the niece of John Patrick Shannon, ran her first major long con by the age of 21, her first exotic car theft ring by the time she was 24 and now carries the modern equivalent of a broadsword in her boot qualifies as a girl anymore. Let's go." He placed his hands on the cuffs, tugging her firmly along.

Mary smiled at the abbreviated list of her credentials as he and Tea Teacher led her out two-by-two toward the waiting transport vehicle. As they walked, he read her her rights. She twisted her hands in the cuffs lightly, feeling them shift just a little. She ran her fingertips lightly over her bracelet. _Good. 'Cause there's one little thing he didn't add to my resume. Guess he's about to find out about it, though._

McNeil was still sitting where she'd left him. One of the uniformed Marshals was talking to him. _Cut __a deal, did you, little rabbit? Well, Uncle Johnny's not going to be too happy with that or with the fact that you got his favorite niece nabbed by the Feds. Hope they find you a nice deep rabbit hole._ She gave him a wide, bright grin as they passed by and said, "If you should happen to see them before I do, make sure you tell everybody I said hello, okay?" McNeil whimpered. He understood immediately what she meant.

The Marshal holding her cuffs jerked a little harder, and she cut angry eyes at him. His gaze was ice, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, evenly matched. Then she remembered her plan and smiled at him, pretending acquiescence. They stepped out of the doorway, and the Marshal stepped ahead of her to open the door to the vehicle, leaving only Tea Teacher to control her. The other officers were occupied for one perfect moment with talking to McNeil, gathering the bits and pieces of evidence on scene or preparing to leave.

With a speed and a viciousness that was breathtaking, she made a flying side kick at Tea Teacher, bringing her to her knees. The woman didn't even get the chance to cry out since Mary's boot caught her in the abdomen, knocking the air out of her with a soft grunt. Mary was sprinting, hands still chained behind her, headed for the alley beside the coffee shop when the other Marshal turned, blue eyes narrowed. He drew his gun and shouted for her to stop, but she turned the corner and kept going.

She pounded down the narrow alley at breakneck speed despite her hands being pinned awkwardly behind her by the cuffs. She could hear the fast strides of the Marshal behind her. _Damn, he's fast. _

"Mary Shannon, stop or I'll fire!"

_You can try, big boy. Good luck hitting me... I'm running, you're running. You may be good, but I'm a betting woman just like my Daddy taught me, and I'm going to play the odds today._ Her stride never slowed as she raced for the end of the alley. She heard his Glock fire two shots, heard one of them whizz past her ear. _Fuck me....Okay, so you are VERY good, Mr. Marshal..... _Still she ran, and she turned into another alley.

This one branched two ways. She made a quick decision, hung a left without breaking stride and raced part of the way down. She could hear the law man's steps nearing the mouth of the alley she'd left. She kicked open one of the shabby wooden doors in front of her and plunged into an abandoned building. She pushed the door shut behind her with her shoulder and then turned to race up the interior staircase. On the first floor of the building, she found a room filled with old dressing forms and yellowing stacks of newspaper. She lay on the floor and with a flexibility that would have astounded most people she maneuvered her bound hands in front of her.

She pulled her silver bracelet off her wrist and removed slender piece of wire from it and quickly worked it in the keyhole of the cuffs. The whole business took less than two minutes before she was free. She stood up quickly and listened. She could hear the footsteps of the Marshal in the alley below her. He was not running as she'd hoped.

_Why, oh why, couldn't this one just be a stupid local bastard who'd just run past like a Keystone Kop or somebody I could seduce or buy off? This one is going to be a lasting problem, I can just tell. I can feel it right down to my bones._

She rubbed her wrists, watching him stalking down the alley, gun drawn, moving like a hunting beast after its prey. _Doesn't understand that this time there isn't a rabbit in the hole, though. Wonder what happens when two predators stalk each other? _ A brief smile twisted her lips. _Nobody thought to tell him that "escape artist" also belongs on my laundry list of achievements. Bet heads will roll back at the office for that SNAFU. Wish I could have seen his face when he turned around and realized I was gone._

His steps had taken him past her building. _Well, Mr. Marshal, whoever you are, it's been fun, but... Time to get out of here. I need to figure out a way to get out of town, and then I'll need to start looking for some way to rework that job or replace it._

She crept down the hallway, found another set of stairs at the end, picked the lock on the front door, and after looking carefully to make sure there was nobody looking, she slipped out into the light foot traffic on the downtown streets.

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**Okay. Let me know what you think. Do we like this different Mary and Marshall? Detailed feedback would be greatly appreciated for this first chapter but even a yes or no would be lovely....**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So far some of you like it and some of you are ambiguous. Well, here's more. I am enjoying this different world quite a bit.

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The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. ~Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

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Marshall had almost captured her. Had in fact placed his hands on her, a pair of cuffs on her wrist, the door of the GMC open to receive her and take her in. Then, all his careful planning had gone to hell and Mary Shannon had slipped through his fingers, bounding away like a gazelle across the plains.

_No, not a gazelle. Nothing so harmless or defenseless. More like a sprinting cheetah, all curves and speed._

He'd kept up with her through the maze of alleys, known she'd probably gone into one of the abandoned buildings, but by the time he'd found the opened door, she was long gone. When backup arrived and helped search, they'd found his cuffs in an upstairs room draped across the neck of an old dressing form, mockingly empty.

He shook his head, pushing the mountain of paperwork required to resolve and chronicle the clusterfuck the arrest had turned into away from him. Jones had a deep tissue bruise and two cracked ribs from the roundhouse kick Shannon had delivered to her before running. _Maybe not a creature as delicate as a cheetah, then, either._ He thought of the measuring golden-brown eyes that had looked him over as she'd surveyed the coffee shop, the fury at being trapped he'd seen in them before she'd started unexpectedly teasing him about his computer. _Yeah, not a cheetah. Something a hell of a lot more dangerous than that....  
_

He'd planned that particular arrest for a month. He'd gotten the tip about McNeil, cornered him, caused him to cave, and used him as a tool to fish for bigger fish. Every part of that had gone exactly to his precise specifications. McNeil had been a perfect lure, too, already twitchy enough not to set off any extra alarm bells as he set about causing an accident that would give the team time to get in place with their weapons.

He'd been trying to figure out a way to trap Shannon for much longer than a month, though. She'd been a particular fascination of his ever since her file first slid across his desk almost a year ago. He sighed and made two mouse clicks, pulling up his personal electronic copy, complete with copious annotations, looking at the sardonic smiling face on the screen in front of him, not a mugshot with numbers as so many of the other Federal jackets would have, but instead a personal photo taken by someone they'd arrested and given to them as a part of a plea deal. Mary Shannon, elusive and lovely, had never been successfully arrested, much less brought to trial.

That was part of her allure, he knew. That she had not been conquered. He traced a finger along the line of the cheekbone on the screen. "You're my white whale, Mary Shannon. I'm not giving up on you yet." He laughed a little at the cheesiness of his own line, made a few more notes on her file regarding observations from their encounter at the coffee shop, closed the file, shut down the computer, and left the Fugitive Task Force office for the day.

---

Two days later in Las Vegas, Mary was sitting in the deep soaking tub of a very posh hotel suite trying to get all the feel of the past two months in the crappy little apartment off her. She'd ordered a double-decker bacon cheeseburger with fries, a chocolate sundae, and a beer from room service, had a new set of clothing lying on the bed ready for her when she felt like putting on something other than the ridiculously fluffy and posh terrycloth robe provided by the hotel, and was trying to decide if it was worth it to go downstairs to the floor tonight or whether she felt more like just staying in.

The second time the water started to cool down, she got out of the tub, and with the fantastic robe wrapped around her settled in on the bed to eat her dinner. She savored each bite, eating with hunger and appreciation. _Been in that damn podunk town too long. It's horrible when you can't even get a good cheeseburger somewhere. _As she finished with her burger and turned her appetite to desert, she took up a slender manila folder from the beside table. She wiped her hands absently on the robe before opening the cover, laid it down on the bed, lifted the sundae dish, and began to eat melted chocolate ice cream while studying the contents.

An enlarged ID photo and several candid shots lay on the top. She studied them briefly, and shifted them aside. Underneath was a photocopied information sheet and service record. His name was Marshall Mann. _Jesus. No. Really? _She snorted._ I would kick my parents' collective asses if they did that to me. I mean, what the hell? Oh well. Nobody gets to pick their own name. I swear though, I would have gotten myself some kind of nickname, even if it had to be fucking Spike...._

She spooned up another bite of liquefying chocolate and turned her attention to rest of the information sheet. Her source said his parents and grandparents were also U.S. Marshals. _Isn't that sweet? Family tradition. I know a little about that, too. Shame his comes with a shiny star and mine comes with...well...other less-valued perks... _It gave his vital stats, told that he was not married, and very unusually in the Marshal service that he was not partnered. He had been, the sheet said, but his previous partner had been killed in the line of duty three years ago and he had not been re-partnered since then. _Hmm...so Tea Teacher wasn't his sidekick. Maybe he won't be too pissy about my putting her on her ass then. _She smiled around the spoon at the satisfying memory of the kick and her subsequent flight.

Idly flipping the page and cleaning the last of the sundae out of the dish with her fingertip, she looked at his service record. What she saw there wiped the smile completely off her face. "Shit...."

He was a machine. There were no failed captures in his record, no pending cases. When he went after a fugitive, he got them. He'd been involved in the capture of three of the country's Ten Most Wanted in the past two years personally. He had shot to kill on more than one occasion, but not unnecessarily, so that warning hadn't been idle, and he had been awarded marksman and sharpshooter medals. "Shit, shit, shit!!!"

She stood up, walked away from the bed to the splendid view of the strip, stared out at the dancing lights unseeing, mind churning as she tried to come up with some way to believe he wouldn't come after her. She knew her actions at the coffee shop had been like waving a red flag in front of an already riled-up bull. She should have just let them take her in, gone through the process and let John Patrick spring her. He had the money and the lawyers to do it, and really, that she'd danced this long without winding up in a cage for a few hours was a miracle.

It had been a matter of pride, though. There was a reason she had those wings tattooed on her lower back. She always flew away, always found the opening nobody else saw, was never, ever going to let another man take her freedom away from her, even if he did have eyes the color of the sky and a badge that said the law of the land gave him the right to do it....

She walked over to the bed and picked up the ID photo blowup, looking at the man who had passed so convincingly for harmless but was now the greatest threat she had. "Alright, Marshal Marshall. I know you and you know me. Fair is fair. Let's see what you've got." She dropped the photo with a deliberate carelessness, unbelted the robe with a total lack of modesty or body consciousness, and crossed to pick up her new clothing. She quickly headed downstairs away from the disquieting folder on the bed to the soothing lights and sounds of the casino floor where she knew she'd find her father and her uncle as well as the tranquility that sometimes only the pulse of people and their quest for the elusive dream of instant happiness seemed to give her.

She found her father exactly where she'd known he'd be, in the high-stakes room playing poker. She waited for a break in their game and came over to give him the hug she knew he expected.

"Hi, Daddy."

He put one big bearlike arm around her and pulled her to him briefly, tightly before releasing her. "There's my girl. Are you feeling better now that you've had a bit of a rest and some proper food?"

She forced a smile. "Yeah. You know me. Give me a burger and all my pain disappears."

He laughed that charming easy laugh. "Eat too many of them, daughter mine, and I'm fairly certain that some new pains might begin...."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Have you seen John Patrick?"

Her father waved an idle hand toward the restaurant section of the casino. "Said he'd done his time with the plebeian population tonight and wanted some quiet. You know where to find him." His eyes were distracted as the players at his table began to reassemble and the action got ready to resume.

Mary rolled her eyes. The casino had six different restaurants, three cafes, and two buffets. John Patrick Shannon, as the owner, might be in any of them. "Thanks, Dad. That narrows it down tremendously."

Her father cast a distracted smile over his shoulder at her before turning back to the card game. She just smiled and shook her head. Hadn't it always been this way? As long as she could remember, her father had been playing a hand of cards and she'd been wandering around with John Patrick. She turned to go when her father's voice caught her. "Wish me luck, Mary."

She turned soft, sad eyes on him. "Good luck, Daddy. Win me the moon, okay?"

"Anything for my little girl."

She smiled and went to start searching through the many themed eateries of the giant casino to find the man who might be able to give her some advice on what to do next.

---

Marshall had his first solid lead in thirty-six hours, and he was on the plane to Vegas in less than an hour after that. Jones had been frighteningly disappointed when he'd told their commanding officer that he was going, and when he'd seen her face fall, he'd realized that she was hoping for a partnership...or more.

It wasn't that she wasn't a fine Marshal. He just didn't do the whole partner thing anymore. He'd thought everybody in the office knew that. They'd stopped trying to find him a new one a year and a half ago after he'd gently and not so gently ended each attempt. He'd never found that person who made sense working with him, and since that was the case, he preferred to do it alone.

As for the romance Jones was apparently hoping for, well...Marshall sat back in the plane seat and sighed. Dark-haired Jones just wasn't his type. He wasn't exactly sure what his type was anymore. His last serious relationship had ended badly with the lady in question accusing him of being job-obsessed and unavailable to her. Objects had been thrown (at him) and he'd lost a couple of things he really valued when he wasn't sufficiently apologetic to her about the situation. Since then, he'd dated casually, but he'd been avoiding another long-term relationship. _It gets expensive to keep replacing computer monitors and dishes like that, not to mention the fact that I actually did really like that lava lamp...._

McNeil had proved to be a veritable fount of new information about Shannon. He was telling them anything and everything he thought they might want to know and was now begging to enter Witness Protection. He was scared to death of John Patrick Shannon, Mary's uncle. Marshall thought he probably had good reason to be, even though nobody had ever been able to tie anything directly to John Patrick Shannon legally. The tip that Mary had probably fled to her uncle's casino in Vegas to regroup had come from McNeil. In fact, McNeil had clung to Marshall's sleeve to tell him.

"Please, please, Marshal Mann. I have lots of stuff to tell you that's good. Please. I know she got away. I should have told you she was like that. I don't know why I forgot to tell you about that. Please."

Marshall had gently pried the nervous little man off his coat and asked him some questions to get the full range of information out of him. When he was done, he was already on the phone making flight arrangements as he was headed out the doors of the interrogation room. His mind though was still processing what he'd been told.... _This guy is like some kind of tiny scared little quivering creature, isn't he? What is it he reminds me of? Oh yeah...a rabbit...._

---

Mary finally found John Patrick in the back booth of the blues club-themed restaurant. She slid in next to him, signaled a server, and ordered another beer. John Patrick was listening to the singer performing on the dimly-lit stage, and as she sang, the notes filled the room achingly.

"She's damn good, J.P."

"I know it. I found her in the kitchen staff, believe it or not."

"Yeah, I can believe it. That's why they come to work for you, you know. Because sometimes you just do things like that."

John Patrick smiled and looked away from his newest discovery to rest his gaze upon what he considered his most prized treasure. He studied her with sober brown eyes, so like her own, eyes that missed no detail.

"So tell me the all of it. Leave nothing out. I can tell it's bad, and you know I cannot help you if you leave any of it aside."

She'd known he'd be this way. John Patrick was a rock. He was the island of calm she'd stood on when her father had gambled away the house, when her mother Jinx finally had to be put into a rehabilitation facility. Had it not been for him, she and Brandi...well, she didn't like to think about where they might have wound up. Her life now might not be picket fences, immaculate kitchens, and soccer mom carpools, but she had her family with her, and that was all that really mattered.

"It was the Feds, J.P."

"That much I know."

"And they're going to keep coming."

"Ok." He didn't ask why. He was too old a hand at these things for that. And probably, he knew without the asking. "What do you need from me? Do you want me to have it taken care of?"

He didn't say it like a thug in a gangster film. He said it casually like a man proposing to drop off a broken object at the repair shop on his way to work the next day. It was the more menacing for that, the more real to her.

She thought of the man in the manila folder upstairs, the man who'd chased her down the alleys, the man who'd laughed with her gently while he searched her with careful hands, the man who never, ever stopped searching and always got his target once he set his sights. She looked down at her beer bottle, worked on peeling the label off. She had never killed a living soul, somehow didn't think she could live with herself if she was the cause of the death of the man to whom those sky-blue eyes belonged. She balanced her need to stay free with her need to make sure she didn't do something she couldn't live with.

"No, J.P. I'll save that kind of favor for a rainy day, okay? You've already given me everything I needed just by letting me crash here for a couple of days and be with family. I will leave tomorrow morning and get out of your hair. If he's as good as they say he is, he'll be coming here soon looking for me. I don't want you involved in this mess. I think I can stay ahead of him, disappear if I have to, jet out of the country for awhile, but I really don't want to leave right now because of...." She broke off, looked down, peeled a long strip of the label off the bottle and was silent.

John Patrick waited a beat, gave her time to continue if she wanted, then gently finished in the sentence. "Because of Brandi and Jinx."

"Yeah. I want to be there when she graduates, and you know Mom is just not well."

They sat in silence looking at the growing pile of curling paper on the table. Finally, John Patrick slapped the edge of the table. "Well, whatever you decide, niece of mine, you know you have my support."

Mary sat her bottle down, now completely denuded of its label, and slapped her hands on the table in a deliberate imitation of his gesture. "Well, I thank you, uncle of mine, but what I really want to know is if I also have your money...."

He laughed and laid his hand over hers, giving it a gentle and encouraging squeeze.

---

Marshall was checked in and ensconced in a hotel room three doors down from Mary's own by the time she was having her burger and surveying his file. He had already informed the Vegas branch of the Marshal service of his presence, and he was monitoring Mary's movements when she left her room to go downstairs. He slipped out of his door and down the hall to hers. He removed a universal master key, something he'd obtained from the lock manufacturer via the Marshal Service, from his jacket pocket and opened her door.

Inside he made a quick search. There were almost no personal items. The few garments he found were new. He opened the wardrobe and looked through the drawers. He tried not to notice the lingerie he found there, but for some very unprofessional reason, his mind kept picturing Mary Shannon in each of the pieces his fingers touched.... something functional and simple in plain white cotton trimmed with a little bit of something virginal-looking and delicate around the edges, a red lace bra and panty set, one in black satin, and a pair of very small panties in an animal print that made his mouth go dry.... _So what goes with this one? Wait...Jesus. Get a hold of yourself. What is wrong with you? _He slammed the drawer shut.

Moving to the bed, his foot tangled in the robe she'd dropped it when she'd stripped to dress. His mind had no trouble putting that image together for him. He closed his eyes and shook his head a little, feeling just a little dazed. He found the remains of a meal on a tray on the bedside table. He smiled a little as he read the receipt. _All my favorites. The lady does like her food. Could have at least left me a few fries._

His eyes located the file folder next, and he gently lifted the cover. His own face stared up at him from the interior, and he felt a mixture of surprise and respect for her. "Know your enemy, I guess." He scanned through the folder contents, noticed the depth of the information, realized that there was, as usual, a leak in the department somewhere that was going to have to be ferreted out once this was over, and closed the folder carefully.

He finished his survey of her room, careful to move nothing. He slipped out of her room a few minutes later, satisfied that he had learned some new things about her and keyed himself back into his own suite. He didn't see the eyes that were watching him from the turning of the hallway or the slow, feral smile that slid across the lips of the watcher as his door closed.

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**Green button time....**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I just love y'all. Your reviews are awesome. So awesome, in fact, that here is part 3....

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What is more mortifying than to feel you've missed the Plum for want of courage to shake the Tree? ~Logan Pearsall Smith

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_Well, well, well.... Come into my parlor, indeed. _ Mary watched the tall, slender law man re-enter his room and could not stop the smile that spread across her face. She had known that Marshall Mann would come after her here in Vegas, but she'd never imagined that he would be so fast or that he'd have the..._well, balls, quite frankly..._ to stay in a place that was so thoroughly her own territory. Was he really all alone in that hotel room or did he have an army of Marshals behind that door?

She slipped her phone off her hip and dialed the front desk asking for the concierge.

"Madam? How may I assist you?"

"George? It's Mary Shannon."

"Ah, Mary. What can I do for you."

"I had a question about the gentleman who checked into room 978. Is he traveling alone?"

"On the prowl, Mary?"

She laughed. _George, you have no idea...._ "Something like that, yeah."

She heard the sound of computer keys clicking, a brief pause while George looked up the reservation. "Okay, Mary. He booked the reservation a day ago. Yeah, he's traveling alone it seems. Going to be with us for another day. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Give me that name, George."

"He's booked in as Marshall Hunter, New Mexico ID."

_Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. That is just a little too corny. _

"Thanks George. I appreciate the intel."

"No problem, Mary. You know I'm always happy help. Good luck hunting the Hunter, eh?" He laughed.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. _And it seems I'm surrounded by the corn. Maybe it's a guy thing. _ "Bye, George."

Mary made one more brief phone call to the head of the kitchens then walked to the elevators and went downstairs. She had a purchase to make. Mr. Hunter was never even going to know what had hit him.

---

Marshall was feeling well-satisfied with himself. He had slipped into the heart of her personal territory, run a reconnaissance mission, and was now in the final stages of planning the capture for tomorrow. He was sitting at the polished wood table making notes on a white legal pad in blue ink. An empty soda bottle sat beside him, the only nourishment he'd had since lunch. His pen bumped the bottle which tottered precariously, and his stomach growled.

He sat back and blinked in surprise. It had gotten rather late, and he was hungry. He'd spent so much time planning his foray into her room, waiting for the right opportunity, and then he'd been so full of the need to get his ideas down afterward that food had been the last thought in his mind.

Now, though, the thought of that receipt in Shannon's room brought his hunger to full attention. _Think I could pretty much demolish one of those burgers myself. _He had been living off room service, knowing it was unsafe to be wandering around the hotel, especially now that he knew she had photos of him that she could have passed around to the security team. He'd worn glasses and a ballcap when he'd checked in, using his TechnoNerd harmless mannerisms as well. It was amazing how few people looked at you when they thought you weren't a threat....

He picked up the phone and ordered a duplicate of Mary's meal. _That will do to take the edge off, I guess. _His friends and family were constantly amazed by the amount of food he could put away. _Can always order more if I'm still hungry._

While he was waiting on his food, he took a quick shower, slipped into his pajamas. His family swore his pajamas were the reason he wouldn't have a partner, that he was too embarrassed to have anyone see them when an overnight assignment required it. The current pair had "It's Just a Flesh Wound" and the Black Knight from Monty Python on them, arms and legs missing. He was towel-drying his hair when the discrete knock from room service came. He threw the towel into the bathroom as he went past, charged his meal and the tip to the room, and brought the tray back to the table.

_Got to say one thing about this place of John Patrick Shannon's,_ he thought as he demolished the giant hamburger, _ they can sure make a mean cheeseburger. _

---

When the kitchens had called to tell Mary that Mr. Hunter had indeed ordered a meal and that it would be coming up momentarily, she'd thanked them and walked toward the service elevator, one hand in her pocket wrapped around what lay there, that same devilish smile on her face. _Oh the things you can buy in a hotel shop these days..._

The door opened and the young bellhop had stepped off with the cart. Seeing Mary, he'd broken into a wide smile and stopped. Mary had explained the situation carefully, and her authority within the hotel (absolute by order of Mr. John Patrick himself) and the fifty she slipped him ensured that he found the need to take a quick trip around the corner for just a moment to check on a noise he suddenly heard there. He did not know what happened, and in truth, he did not much care. Everything on the plate looked exactly the same as it had coming up in the elevator to him, and Ms. Shannon patted him on the shoulder before pacing away. Being a young man, he indulged himself briefly in the pleasure of watching her superior ass as she left before he started to push the cart down the hall toward 978. _Yeah. That had been a very nice perk for the evening._

Mary went back to her own room surveyed it carefully and cautiously. What exactly had the Marshal done when he was here? Nothing appeared out of place. The folder lay on the bed in the same place. The robe was still in a pool on the floor. She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled open the large carved wooden doors. Her few items of clothing still hung in their same locations. But wait.... her eyes narrowed.... _What the hell?_ The drawer holding her lingerie was pushed in just a little too far. She had to tug it just a little to resettle it on its gliding rollers. Once she had done so, she pulled it open and tried to imagine the contents from his point of view, tried to imagine why the drawer had gotten jammed shut._ Oh Marshall, Marshall, Marshall. How lovely. And did you enjoy the show? _She hooked one pair of the underwear within with her fingertip and withdrew them before shutting the drawer again and slid them in her pants pocket, the wheels of her mind turning....

Satisfied with her survey, she went to the bed, flopped down, and flipped on the TV. She channel surfed for a few minutes, unable to concentrate in her anticipation. _Jesus. Why the hell are there so many cop shows on TV these days? Hasn't anybody noticed that? I mean, there are other topics. Come on, people. _

She found a movie, _Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte_, on one of the classic movie channels, and settled in to watch Bette Davis play crazy in a decaying gothic southern mansion for a few minutes. Her eyes moved over to the clock off and on as the film progressed, and by the time Bette was screaming, "It's his head! It's his head!" she was ready. _Sorry, Bette. Kick ass and take names for me, okay? Love that movie...._

Mary picked up the phone, dialed room 978. It rang and rang with no response. She laughed, rose, gathered a few items already laying on the dresser near the door, checked her reflection in the mirror briefly, gave herself a thoroughly evil smile, and headed out the door, removing her own master key as she headed the short distance down the hall to make a return call on Mr. Marshal Marshall Mann.

---

After eating, Marshall had settled down on the big bed in his room to do some TV watching of his own. Well, more precisely, the TV was on while he continued to let him mind roam over the tail-ends of tomorrow's capture. This would be one of the most satisfying ones of his career, not because of any particular heinous crime on Shannon's part but because of the level of difficulty involved in putting it together. Marshall stifled a yawn and rubbed at his eyes. He glanced at the clock. It wasn't past midnight, but he was suddenly so tired....

He blinked rapidly and shook his head to wake up, moving against the pile of pillows he'd built up against the elaborately curving iron bedstead that spiraled up the wall behind him, as much art as furniture. The motion revived him briefly, but minutes later, he caught himself nodding off, the sharp downward motion of his head waking him. He muzzily looked at the clock again. _Why am I so tired all of a sudden? _

He rubbed his hand over his face, sat firmly forward, determined to stay away and finish his work. He leaned back again and was soon so soundly asleep later than he didn't hear the phone right beside him ringing when Mary called his room to check on him.

---

Before Mary opened the door to Marshall's room, she knocked lightly, gently, the quick impersonal rap of housekeeping. She waited two beats, and when she heard no response, she slid her master into the lock with a smile on her lips and a saucy song in her heart. This, this was going to be fun.

"Housekeeping...." she singsonged, peeking around the door. She saw him sprawled across the large bed, still leaning half against the elaborate headboard, a legal pad lying beside him, the remains of the meal he'd ordered on the table across the room. _Amazing what a double dose of nighttime cold medicine will do, isn't it?_

"Oh, Mr. Hunter, I've come to put everything here in order," she trilled, shutting the door and crossing to stand at the foot of the bed, just staring at him.

The light from the bedside lamp highlighted his angular cheekbones. His face was relaxed in sleep, and he looked younger than he had in their previous encounter, somehow less dangerous. _He's a bit of a pretty one, after all, isn't he? Not going to be fooled by that again..._ She reached into her pants pocket for one of the items she'd tucked there before leaving her own room. She withdrew a handful of zip ties and stepped up to the head of the bed. _Moment of truth,_ she thought, her heart racing with the kind of adrenaline she usually associated with popping the window on something fast and sleek in the driveway of its rightful owner....

A few minutes later, she was stepping away to survey her work. _Not bad. Artistic, even. _He was still partially sitting up against the pillows, and she'd pulled his arms out to the side before using three long zip ties on each side to restrain his arms. He'd only muttered in his sleep as she'd cautiously lifted him into place, and by the time she had the first restraint in place binding his wrist, she was grinning broadly and being much less careful. To restrain his far arm, she had simply straddled him. _Easier to reach and fun for me, too,_ she smirked with a little wiggle. His head rolled on the pillows behind him and he shifted restlessly at her weight across his lap. He had pulled the arm she was trying to bind, his biceps flexing, the muscles of his chest showing in definition briefly, and her attention was drawn to the power in his lean body. His eyelids flickered he struggled to pull out of the drug-induced slumber.

_Whoa, cowboy. Not just yet. Need you pliant for just a little while longer, then we'll have a nice little chat, you and me._ She'd used her strength in resistance to his own, pressed hard a moment, and he'd subsided back into stillness long enough for her to get the last two ties into place. Satisfied with the strength of the restraint, she smiled and swung off him.

_Oh yes. A bit of a pretty one. _Mary trailed her fingertip gently across those high cheekbones, down briefly across his lower lip. She sighed, watched him shift his face into her touch and then frown. _It's a shame, really.... But what the hell is up with these pajamas? What grown man in his right mind, much less a U.S. Marshal wears Monty freakin' Python pjs? Jesus.... _

She laughed a little and turned away from him to walk to the minibar. The seal was still pristine. _Oh well. I guess the government probably owes me. _She opened the fridge and took out the small chilled bottle of white wine she knew she'd find there, got a glass, poured herself a small portion, retrieved his notepad from the bed and sat down in one of the soft comfortable easy chairs in the conversation area to wait for her prey to rejoin her in the land of the conscious.

_And oh, he's going to be mad as hell when he does...._

---

She wasn't wrong. Marshall awoke in stages as the over-the-counter drug wore off. He'd had flashes of what was happening to him, brief moments of wakefulness as she'd tied him. He'd been aware of her entrance only slightly, but he'd been unable to wake enough to reach for his Glock or fight her off. The next time he'd been able to struggle up to consciousness, she'd been astride him, her firm curvy body pressed to his chest, the weight of her warm against his lap, and he'd tried to reach for her to pull her from him to restrain her. For a reason his addled brain hadn't been able to process, he hadn't been able to move his left arm at all. She'd been able to press his right arm down without too much of a fight, and he'd slipped back into a world of troubled dreams in which a lithe, tiger-striped Mary Shannon hunted him from the shadows, pouncing and devouring him. It wasn't an unpleasant thing, the being devoured....

His eyes snapped open, and his first sight was her, sitting in one of the chairs in the conversation area with her back to him, long blond hair tumbling down, reading his notes on her capture. He tried to lunge at her with a growl only to feel six searing pains cut into his arms and no forward motion at all. _What the hell? _ He turned his head to inspect the cause of the pain and anger and panic raced in equal measures through his system as he realized what had happened to him.

She turned, and he saw the light of unholy glee in her eyes and she put down the legal pad and came toward him. _Stalked, stalked toward him. That would be the correct verb. Oh shit. _

She perched on the end of the bed, still looking at him with triumph. "Morning, Mr. Hunter. I know you had some plans for us this afternoon, but I'm afraid that they just didn't quite gel with my personal schedule. I thought we might chat a bit this morning instead."

He pulled hard against the restraints once, felt them bite, sting, and then stopped. It was futile. She'd used heavy grade zip ties. They'd have to be cut off him. He settled in against the pillows and looked at her, crooked one eyebrow.

"Is the level of personal attention all your uncle's guests receive, Ms. Shannon?"

Her smile blossomed, bright, wicked, sharp as a blade. _Oh, even tied up and in a situation he's so uncertain of, he's willing to play. I do like this one. Let's play, Marshall Mann, let's play. _She crawled up the bed, slowly, knowing he could kick out at her, try to trap her in a leg hold, waiting to see if he would do so. Marshall just watched, equally watchful as she. She settled her weight across his lap, the position she'd found so comfortable the previous night when she'd put him into his current state.

"Mr. … Hunter.... We're just known for personal service here at the Phoenix Dream Hotel and Casino." She ran her palms up his chest, rested them lightly on either side of his neck, enjoying the instant tension of his body, the way his eyes narrowed. She allowed her thumbs to make little circles against him. He shifted under her, tried to move away from her hands, but there was nowhere to go.

"You said you wanted to talk to me, Ms. Shannon. This isn't talking."

"It's not? I think we're communicating quite a few things right now." She smirked at him, teasing.

"What do you want?"

"Another loaded question. Jesus, Marshall, you just keep making this so damn easy...." She laughed, let it be husky, deep, provocative, ran her hand lightly, slowly down his chest.

Impatience and frustration were lighting his eyes, but his body underneath her was hardening, responding to the sleek curves of hers and to her light touches, to the fragrance of her, clean and simple, _soap, not perfume,_ that he could smell, to the warmth of her breath where it feathered over his face when she leaned in close.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. _Think of something else. You are not some randy teenager, dammit! _All he could think about, suddenly, was the drawer full of lingerie...black ones and white ones and red ones and ...and...ones with tiger stripes.... This was not an image destined to help him with his problem and he heard Mary's sultry laughter near his ear as she became aware of his erection.

"Mmm.... and I thought your Glock was all the way over there, Mr. Marshal. Guess I should have searched you carefully for concealed weapons."

_Damn. Damn, damn, damn._

"Ms. Shannon," _striving for decorum of some kind here, even with a raging hard-on, even tied down to a headboard by a criminal who is currently astride me, "_you said you wanted to talk to me? Do you think we could just get down to it?" _Damn. I did not just say that. That did not just fall out of my mouth... My brain must be completely fucking dead, no blood flow at all._

Her grin just widened. "Well, sure, Marshall, but if we're going to get all hot and sweaty, I really think you should call me Mary, at least to start with...."

"I didn't mean...."

"I know you didn't, but it's just so much fun to yank... your... chain." She leaned in and spread her hands on his chest as she said the last words, whispered against his ear. He tensed, hands making hard fists where they were spread and tied against the iron headboard. _He responds to everything so beautifully. I just can't resist it..._ She flicked just the tip of her tongue against his earlobe, sucked it between her lips, tugged ever so gently with her teeth before releasing him, felt his entire body jolt as if she'd hit him with a taser. His cock was pressing against her through the ridiculous fabric of the pajamas in a very distracting way, and she had to stop herself from rocking her hips against the demanding length of him.

_This is SO not where I saw this going.... I have to stop this, or we really **are **going to wind up hot and sweaty. _Part of her mind, the part that was assessing the very impressive erection currently between her legs and the hard muscles of the shoulders under her hands, shot back at her, _And we're not in favor of this because....?_

With a little laugh at herself, she pulled back and swung herself off him to sit to the side. "Maybe you're right. Get more talking done from here, probably." He just watched her with hot blue eyes, breathing slightly faster than usual, saying nothing.

"There is a reason for what I've done here, Marshal Marshall Mann, and it wasn't to come in and taunt you, tease you, or get my hands on that lovely body. That was just a bonus, I guess." Her lips quirked briefly. "I came in to ask you to stop hunting me. I know it's not likely that you will, but I thought maybe it might be worth the asking." She looked down at her hands, wove her fingers together, bit her bottom lip briefly, continued. "Normally in these situations, I'd offer something. Money. A favor. Whatever I think might be appropriate." Her eyes cut up to his, briefly, assessing. She nodded, as though whatever she'd seen there confirmed an earlier assumption.

"You're not the kind who takes, though. That's what makes this whole situation so hard."

He had listened to her, and he found himself absurdly pleased that she knew him to be the kind who "wouldn't take." A sense of the surreal had set into this whole situation. Of all the many confrontations in all the back alleys, open streets, abandoned buildings, and tenement houses he'd ever backed a fugitive into, he'd never, ever sat down on 1000 thread count sheets, _no, been tied up on 1000 thread count sheets, _and had a little chat after being touched in such a way that still had his body whining like a puppy craving attention. _What exactly was this woman made of?_

"Mary, I can't stop chasing you. I won't. It's in your best interest to cut me lose right now, in fact, and turn yourself in. The U.S. District Attorney's office would be willing to offer you a deal if you would be willing to testify against some of the people you've been associated with in the past. You might not do any time at all. We can even get you into the Witness Protection program."

He was in total earnest, and she could tell that he thought he was offering her a very good deal. He just didn't know about that pair of wings she wore, couldn't feel them suddenly flutter and burn in reaction to his words....

"Ah well, Marshall, I can see we have reached an impasse then. I'm sure that's a very lovely offer. I come from a long line of risk-takers and gambling folk, though, and I think I'll roll the dice this time, especially since you're the one tied to the headboard right now."

Anger flashed through his eyes, and he struggled against the restraints. "Mary...this deal won't always be on the table, and if you keep running...."

She smiled, and unable to resist it, she slid herself back across his lap, placing her finger across his lips to silence him. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, to her finger on it, and she traced the outline with her fingertip. She returned her gaze to his, and his eyes were troubled, confused.

"Don't worry about me, Mr. Hunter," she said softly, so close to him he could feel the warmth of his against his skin. Her finger continued to trace the shape of his mouth. "I'm not a rabbit that can be easily run to ground. I was born with wings and claws, and I know how to use both. If you have to worry about somebody, worry about yourself." And she gave in to the urge she'd had since she walked in and first saw him in the light of the bedside lamp and pressed her mouth against his, let her tongue slide against that intriguing shape her fingers had already learned.

It was the physical equivalent of throwing a lit match into a room full of gasoline fumes.

_Oh...my....God... the taste of her.... Honey? Cinnamon? What is that? I've never... I need that, I need...more...more... MORE.... _He leaned as far into the kiss as the bonds would allow, turning his head to seek an angle that would deepen it.

She slid her hands up from where they had settled on his shoulders into his hair, tugging. Her hips shifted against him, legs tightening around him, reveling in the feel of him there, hard again, ready..._ ready for me._ The thought of reaching down and ripping off the silly pajamas, wrapping her hands around the length of him until he screamed made her growl into his mouth, her tongue sliding aggressively, gliding and clashing against his. _Oh lovely, lovely Marshal Marshall Mann. What a beautiful chase this is going to be._

The kiss went on and on, consuming them, not like any kiss either of them had ever had before. Her hands slid under his shirt, fingernails lightly raking down his chest, scraping gentle, delicate little circles of fire around his nipples before continuing across his belly, increasing their pressure. _God, claws, she's got claws...knows how to use them..._

_Wish I could touch her, wish I could just get one hand free...just to feel... _ His hips flexed under hers in response to the image that flooded his lust-soaked mind. The groan that flooded his ears in response to his motion almost made him frantic to touch her and he pulled so hard against the zip ties that the metal headboard made ominous ticking noises, that the plastic straps would leave bruises the next day.

Finally, she broke the kiss. _Have to...have to stop... We're both going to go up in flames if I don't, and I'm not ready to do this. Not like this. Not tonight. _That rebellious and hungry part of herself protested loudly and long, but she slapped it down, kept one hand on his chest while she sat trembling on him, head down, trying to remember why she shouldn't take advantage of the opportunity that was pressed against her so firmly.

When she'd gained a measure of control, she looked up at him. His eyes were still more black than blue, and the need she saw in them was almost her undoing. She actually felt herself lean toward him, saw his chin tilt to meet the angle of her mouth before she caught herself. _Bad Mary. Bad, bad, bad. Get off the nice Marshal now before you can't anymore. Playtime is over for today. This Ride Is Closed._

With shaking legs, she got completely off the bed and walked to where half the little bottle of wine still sat on the table, drinking a huge fortifying swallow straight from the mouth before turning to look at him again.

"Well, that was...." she just didn't have any words. Looking at him, eyes still hot with a mixture of lust and anger, mouth still swollen from kissing her, body still tenting those absurd sleep pants, maybe she didn't have to say it after all. Those lips curved slowly and that mobile eyebrow rose.

"I'll have to agree with you and say that yes, yes it was..."

She tore off the pages of the legal pad and folded them, hooked the little bottle of wine between her fingers, headed towards the door.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around, Marshall."

"Count on it, Mary. Sooner than you think, probably."

"Oh, I don't know. Remember, I'm a prepared, Girl-Scoutish kind of woman." She smirked, running her gaze over the visual feast of him one last time. Unable to resist it, she quickly crossed the room, caught his face for one last fast hard kiss and released him to ruffle his hair. He tossed his head to throw it out of his face, eyes narrowed. _Doesn't like that, does he?_

At the door, she reached down to check for all the items she'd come in with and felt the item from her lingerie drawer she'd snagged earlier. She fished it out and turned back to face him, grinning outrageously as she advanced to the foot of the bed. She dangled the tiger-striped thong from his big toe and stepped back to look at her handiwork. His eyes were wide as he looked at her.

"Think of them as a souvenir," she said cheekily, and then she was out the door, hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign, and heading down the hall to her room. She'd call housekeeping on her way out of town and have them cut him loose if he hadn't figured out something on his own by then.

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**Now it's your turn. The green button is below...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **

**One last chapter before my regular life reclaims me. Everybody has been so wonderful about this one that I couldn't resist. Your reviews have keep me in permanent squee all day long. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter. If you thought it was spicy, well, remember, this is "very much M." You may want to approach some of the upcoming chapters with your oven mitts on.**

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If, after the first twenty minutes, you don't know who the sucker at the table is, it's you. ~Author Unknown

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Mary was packed up and out of the hotel in 45 minutes, including a fast conversation with John Patrick. She'd been light on the details except for what he'd need to know for plausible deniability, and he'd never batted an eyelash. She'd slipped out the kitchen entrance and into a waiting taxi, knowing that John Patrick would make her farewells to her father. She hadn't had the time to find him on the gaming floor, hadn't taken the risk that Marshall might have backup already stationed somewhere in the hotel waiting on her.

The taxi took her across town to a U-Store-It facility, the kind with units large enough to require big metal garage-type rolldown doors. She paid the taxi driver, waited until he was gone, and walked down the rows of units to hers, A-7. She took out a small ring of keys and opened the regular door that sat to the left of the larger door, went in, and switched on the light. It was just as she'd left it.

Shelves lined the wall, and they were mostly empty. A large battered trunk sat at about waist level, a heavy padlock fastening it shut. This she ignored. Four or five cardboard boxes were at the top near the ceiling labeled in Jinx's childish hand with labels like "Baby Clothes" and "Christmas Decorations." These were also not her goal. She knelt near the back of the unit and pulled a heavy old-fashioned canvas tarp off a square shape revealing a small safe. She quickly worked the combination and opened it. Inside were several small pouches and boxes. She picked up one or two, weighing them in her hand, opened them and took out one or two items, and put the rest back in, relocking the safe and covering it again.

Then she stood, dusted her hands off, and turned to the object taking up the majority of the space in the unit. She flicked back the corner of another canvas tarp, and ran her hands lovingly over the curves of the vehicle it had concealed, a custom-tuned British racing green Dodge Charger. She took the the key out of her pocket and deactivated the alarm. She popped the trunk and put her bags in before sliding in the drivers' seat. For a moment, she just sat, savoring a moment of anticipation. She pushed a button on the roof console, and the rolling garage door slowly slid up with a rusty groan. She slid the flat key into its ignition slot and turned it. The illegal police interceptor V8 rumbled contentedly.

_Damn, I love this car._ It would go from zero to sixty in 6.2 seconds and top out around 150 mph. She'd had it up that fast more than one hair-raising, adrenaline-pumping occasion. It wasn't the fastest thing she'd ever driven; it couldn't begin to compare with the V10 fury of a Ferrari or that one gorgeous time she'd been in a Koenigsegg, but for her daily purposes, the heavy muscle car with its lunging panther lines had no equal in her eyes. She slipped a CD in the player, grabbed her sunglasses from the seat beside her, and pulled carefully out of the storage bay.

_Time to get the hell out of here for awhile. A roadtrip will be nice. Haven't just driven for a long time...at least not in something I owned. _She smiled, headed for the interstate and pulled out her cellphone. _One last thing to take care of, though...._

_---_

Since her departure, Marshall had had a lot of time to think about Mary Shannon. Part of him, a very large part of him, was so mad at her that she'd managed to do this to him and at himself that he hadn't somehow prevented it that he could have ripped that headboard down and wadded it into a ball of twisted metal. _When they find out about this at the office, I am NEVER going to hear the end of it. _He'd been trying unsuccessfully to free himself since she'd gone, and had only managed to cut little rips in his arms with the edge of the plastic zip ties, the pain fueling his anger.

Another part of him, a part the angry side was trying hard to ignore, found her admirable. She'd certainly had him at her mercy, bound and helpless in her place of power, and yet she'd done nothing, really, more than ask him to leave her alone. She hadn't hurt him, threatened him, hadn't even really tried very hard to bribe him. She'd cornered him, trapped him, and had done it with a great deal of planning and flare. He was usually the one who did the snaring. His quick bright mind found that alluring and fascinating.

The third aspect of him, one that had been dominant while she was in the room and confused him still when he thought of what had happened between them, wished she would just come back, settle herself across his lap, and kiss him again, maybe let his hands loose this time so he could actually participate a little more thoroughly. This part of him was still wondering around in a fog, and every time he looked down and saw that tiger-striped thong where he'd flung it off his foot when she'd left, it emerged to replay some of his favorite moments from their encounter, the unique and addictive taste of her mouth, the maddening little sounds she made as she'd shifted against him, those wicked nails undoing him slowly....

The angry side beat down the horny one again, and he shook his head in frustration. How the hell was he going to get out of this mess? He couldn't reach the phone, couldn't get off the bed.... She'd promised to send housekeeping in to get him..._and how mortifying is THAT going to be..._but if she didn't keep her promise, how long would it be before his office started searching for him? Twenty-four hours? _Hell. Going to be a little messy in here in twenty-four hours._

He stared up at the ceiling until he must have dozed off. The sound of the door opening had him jerking awake. He saw a maid peering around the corner of the door as though afraid, and when she saw him, she began speaking rapidly in a language Marshall did not understand and backing out of the room.

"No. Wait! Help me, please!"

The door closed automatically behind her, and Marshall ground his teeth. _So much for Mary's housekeeping release. Wonder what else she had in mind?_

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Marshall heard the maid's voice speaking rapidly in the hall. A masculine voice answered her in soothing tones and someone entered the room, a man with silver hair and golden brown eyes. Marshall had seen his face before, although they'd never been formally introduced. Probably every Marshal in the service, at least every one in this area, knew this man.

John Patrick Shannon came to stand at the end of the bed and just looked at the scene before him. His face was completely impassive. _They do say he made his first million at the poker table. Of course, the second million, well, that took a cool head and a steady hand, too.... _Neither man spoke, both taking the measure of the other.

"Seems you've had a bit of trouble here, Mr. Hunter," Shannon's voice was deep, rich, business-like. He gave no indication that Marshall's being bound to the headboard in his pajamas was in any way an unusual occurrence or that he knew who he was.

"Ah, yes. It would certainly seem that way. I would be most grateful if you could cut me down, in fact. I am supposed to be checking out today, and I do have pressing business elsewhere."

Shannon smiled, but it did not touch those agate eyes. _His eyes are Mary's eyes, only hard, hard. Hers are never that flat, that shuttered._ Marshall watched with a flicker of alarm as Shannon reached into his pocket and removed a butterfly knife with a wicked seven inch blade. _What the hell is it with this family and their damn cutlery? Does everybody in the whole Shannon clan carry a sword?_

Never removing his eyes from Marshall, John Patrick's hand gracefully worked the butterfly knife so its wavy blade showed. For a long moment, Shannon simply stood and looked down at Marshall. _He could kill me right now and get rid of the body, have this suite completely stripped and refitted in such a way that even leucinol would never show the bloodstains, and tonight another couple could be celebrating a honeymoon or anniversary right in this same spot. _He kept his breathing slow and even. He would not show fear to this man. _And he knows I know it. _

John Patrick stood just another moment, the knife gently weaving through the air, and then he smiled another not-smile. "Let's see about getting you loose then, shall we?" Shannon slid the blade under the zip ties one and a time and they snapped as though they were gossamer. Despite the fact that the blade was razor sharp and it had to slide along Marshall's skin, it was under such skilled control that at no point did it even scratch him. Marshall's arms fell, and he felt the pain of the hours they had been hanging there set in. He rubbed at his shoulders once they were free, gently ran fingertips across the bloody cuts from where he'd pulled at his restraints.

Shannon was still standing with his knife in hand a pace or so from the bed. Marshall was moving careful and slow. His Glock was in the drawer of the bedside table, but he had no illusions about who would be faster if he lunged for it, especially with his arms in their current state. Suddenly, Shannon's hands moved in a blur and the butterfly knife was folded up, disappearing again into the pocket of that suit that had cost him more than a month of Marshall's salary. Shannon put a gentle, almost paternal hand on Marshall's shoulder and squeezed.

"Whatever you were doing last night to get into this situation, Mr. Hunter, I suggest you might want to discontinue it. It seems like it might be dangerous to you. There've got to be safer pursuits than ones that leave you tied to bedposts and send anonymous calls to hotel front desks to have you turned lose in the morning."

_So that's how she plans to cover him. It's a brilliant thing. He can always claim he didn't know she was here. Who's to prove any different? Who here in their own personal kingdom is going to step up and admit it?_

Marshall nodded thoughtfully. He stared Shannon right back in the eyes, no trace of fear in his bearing. "Thanks for the advice sir. I'll surely keep it in mind. The next time I take up that particular pursuit, you can be sure I'll be much, much better prepared for whatever it might have to offer me."

Something flickered in Shannon's eyes, something that might have been amusement, and he sketched the sign of the cross over Marshall briefly. "Then God and his angels go with you, boy. You're going to need all the help you can get."

---

Marshall had thoroughly searched her room, but of course he'd found nothing except a folded-over piece of hotel stationery lying in the middle of the unmade bed. It had a quickly sketched Marshal's star on the outside of it, and inside a note that read:

Lovely Marshal Marshall Mann,

I guess you got out of the zip ties, hmm? Shame, that. Part of me wishes I could have just kept you like that. Would you have liked to have been...kept? The only thing I really regret is that I didn't think to take a photo. I guess all those wonderful images I'm carrying around in my mind will have to do it for me instead. Well...at least...

Until the next time,

Mary

His brain simply blanked out, took a little scenic tour on him when he read the note, his hand convulsing, crumpling it a little, as he pictured _being kept...Jesus...what does that even involve?_ He smoothed the paper out on the table and slipped it into an evidence envelope. _I think I'll make a photocopy of that for my private file, too, though. I should continue to make sure I have all copies of all relevant documents in mine._ The horny third of his mind snickered at him. _Yeah. Private file. Riiight...._

---

Mary hadn't been to this small Southern town in years. It was microscopically tiny compared to everything she was used to, but she desperately needed to drop off the radar for awhile. _Hell, I'm not even sure they've heard of radar here yet. This is about as far off the grid as you can get. I'm talking Flat Earth, Here there be Dragons territory..._

John Patrick maintained a home here because he needed something within easy reach of his Mississippi gaming interests on the coast and in Tunica. While he had other houses, far more posh in other locations, Mary had chosen to hide out in this ancient house because it was, she figured, the last possible place on earth anybody would think to look for her.

She turned down the drive, passing down the alley of old oak trees and over the bumpy bricks. John Patrick had called ahead to have the house opened and cleaned, but it wasn't large enough to require a staff, and since she was trying to hide out, that would have defeated her purposes somewhat anyway.

She pulled the Dodge around behind the house and into the two-car garage modified from an old carriage house. It had gotten her from Las Vegas to Mississippi in record time, and she'd enjoyed every lush minute of it. She slid out and grabbed her bags, heading for the door, the needed key already in hand, one of the items she'd taken out of the safe at her storage unit.

The house, while not completely secluded from the others in this town, was set well back on its own large property giving it a pleasing feeling of privacy. It had an access to the river as most of the older homes did on the backside of the lot, and, most importantly to Mary, two ways to drive off the property other than the front gate.

She took her belongings inside, went upstairs to the room she'd thought of as "hers" since the first time John Patrick had brought her, Brandi, Jinx, and her Dad here so many summers ago, and began to get settled in for the duration.

_Let's see you find this, Marshall. _

_---_

He was having a bad time of it. There were no leads. News had leaked out at his office that she'd tied him up and left him. _Thank all the angels there are that they didn't seem to know about the other. Of course, I did leave some very gaping holes in my report. Didn't lie..._ he thought quickly to stave off that nagging little voice that had been bothering him the past two days about omitting certain details...._ just didn't think it was anybody's business but my own that she sucked my tongue down her throat and rode me like a pony.... _The teasing he'd already received just from being caught and tied was monumental. Packages of zip ties were appearing everywhere, on his desk, in his truck, in his coffee mug in the breakroom.

When he sat down that morning and found all the double handles of his desk drawers had been ziptied shut, he ground his teeth in frustration, whipped out his pocket knife since he couldn't get to any scissors, and began to cut his way into his desk while he listened to the snickers of his fellow Marshals. _If it's the last damn thing I do, she's going to pay for this. I don't know how. I don't know when. But some way, she's going to pay.... _The middle desk drawer opened to reveal all the items inside that could be ziptied together had been. The handle of the scissors were ziptied together twice. Pens and pencils had been bundled together and four or five ties had been used for each cluster. His stapler had been put in a drawer, drawn tightly down with eleven ties.

He looked in the drawer with dismay, looked around the room at the howling mass of law enforcement, eyebrow arched, stood and grabbed his coat, and calmly said, "You're all a bunch of fiendish, evil, bored bastards. I want you to know that," which only made them all laugh harder, and he stalked out of the office. _They must have been ziptying for hours last night to do all that. Jeee—zus. I have to get out of here..._

His phone suddenly rang as he headed down the stairs. He looked at the number. It was McNeil. He'd contacted McNeil the day before in the hopes that his little rabbit might know something else that would be of use. _Come on bunny boy. I need something good today. _He answered, listened, and a huge smile spread across his face. Suddenly the ziptied stapler didn't seem like such a big damn deal anymore.

He was going to Mississippi, birthplace of Elvis, Hospitality State. It was time to get back some of his own.

---

Mary's days fell into a smooth routine over the next week. She got up every morning and went for a run around the neighborhood. She stopped to talk to Mrs. Larkin about the Garden Club yard competition, the most important event in the octogenarian's life. Mrs. Larkin was a rabid gardener, deathly earnest about the prize, and this year, if she did not win it, most likely salt was going to be sewn into the winner's perennials. Mary liked the sassy old lady in her green plastic shoes and her tie-died shirt.

After her run, Mary would spend some time doing business online or on the phone. Even though she wasn't able to run her crew onsite, she was still able to set up jobs for them from a distance. She itched to be able to be there with them, helping them to take those beautiful fast cars, to drive them just for a little while, before turning them over to whoever had ordered them. There were other things she did, as well, other things she stole, but there was nothing that made her as happy as sliding behind the wheel of a huge, fast, sleek machine and feeling all that power at her disposal.

Mary made a few trips into town. Her fourth day there she browsed around the little shops and found something to send Jinx for her birthday, something small and old and fragile, exactly the kind of thing Jinx would like best. For herself, she bought several books in a local bookstore run out of an old converted house. She ate barbecue at an outdoor restaurant and took a stroll down to the boardwalk near the river to watch it flow slowly by.

_Feels like my life is doing that right now. Damn Feds. If they would just go away, I could get out of this place and get back to doing what I do best..._ She sighed and pushed away from the railing. It was time to go home. Clouds were rolling in. There was going to be one of those famous Mississippi thunderstorms, and she didn't want to get caught in it.

She showered and put on an old tshirt and a pair of men's boxers which were her version of pajamas. She read one of the paperbacks until she felt sleepy, listening to the rumble of thunder getting closer and closer. She put the book down when the power went out a little while later, knocked out by the storm, the only illumination that of the flashes of lightning strobing through the oak leaves outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. She lay staring up into the darkness for a few minutes more, the irregular light provided by the storm giving the room a strange pale glow each time the lightning fired, and then rolled to her side to sleep. She didn't hear the back kitchen door downstairs open, no alarm to warn her of the entry, of the slow quiet footsteps coming up the stairs toward her room in the blackness of the stormy night....

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**_RSVP (or, hit that big old button, won't you honey?)  
_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

** The response to this story has just been overwhelming. You are such a wonderful and generous bunch of people to come on this crazy ride with me. Thank you for your encouraging words and reviews. I am having so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy the next turning as much I did....

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**

The past isn't dead. In fact, it's not even past. – William Faulkner

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Marshall had been watching the house since his arrival in the small town a day earlier. It hadn't taken long to get established at one of the small motels dotting the highway at the edge of town, and from there, he'd pretended to be a tourist, walked one of the historic paths through the heart of the sleepy place, and allowed his rambling steps to take him past the oak-lined drive that sheltered Shannon's little slice of the antebellum South.

It wasn't a fussy, columned wedding cake of a house like several of the others he passed by tried to be. It did have the deep porches that apparently were de rigueur for homes of the region, but the simple, elegant architecture was appealing and had been well-cared for. Each room had the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that could be opened to allow a person to walk right out onto the porch and provide maximum air circulation in the days before air conditioning had been available or even dreamed of. Marshall wondered which set of those walk-through windows was Mary's. He'd have to sneak closer to the house at night to establish that, to make sure she was really there. He might be able to play the casual foot tourist here on the uneven and cracked sidewalk, but strolling down her private drive would surely attract the wrong kind of attention.

_And I don't want her to know I'm here…at least not just yet. Let's say I'd prefer to announce my presence privately. _His lips turned up briefly. Once he confirmed McNeil's tip and was able to make a visual ID of Mary, he'd call in the proverbial cavalry. He'd learned his lesson about trying to bring her in alone, still had the healing bruises and scratches down his arms from their last encounter should it slip his mind momentarily. _There is going to be a space of time, though, where she and I are going to have a little...chat…about one or two things…._

His eyes scanned the property and settled on the outbuilding he could just see the edge of behind the main building. _Perfect. Set up there as soon as it gets dark enough to sneak onto the property. _He ran his gaze back across the silent, partially hidden façade of the house one last time, lingering on the upper windows. _Told you I'd see you soon, Mary. Let's see you Girl Scout your way out of what I've got in mind._

_---_

Mary was sprawled on her stomach, covers kicked off because of the rising heat without the air conditioning since the power was off. The storm and the temperature were affecting her dreams. They were filled with darkness, and disturbing things walked there. One hand spread on the sunshine yellow sheets, made a pushing motion, and she turned her face against the soft cotton, muttering something unhappy.

The slow inaudible footsteps of the invader to her home crept down the long hall toward her room untroubled by the lack of light or the raging elements outside. Her door was open, so not even the possibility of that warning was available….

In her dreams, Mary was a golden dragon, sinuous and proud, flying through lightning-struck skies. She reveled in the beauty of the display and felt no fear at the raw power of it. It was as she was, a force of nature. Her wings unfolded, and she cut through the air with speed and grace. _Freedom…freedom…._ Suddenly, a dark shape unfurled itself above her and grabbed her just behind her wings, pinning her with sharp talons, causing her to fall because she could no longer move her wings to fly. Dragon-Mary shrieked her pain and agony, unable to twist free of the hideous shapeless darkness that had plunged fang and claw into her, and she plummeted toward the earth which was suddenly no longer the earth at all, but had changed in the manner of dreams into an endless abyss which pulled her deeper and deeper…. Mary cried out in her dream, "No. No. NO!"

Something, maybe the dream itself, warned her. There had been no noise, but Mary scrambled up, drawing from under her pillow with one motion a Bowie knife roughly the twin of the one Marshall had taken from her only a few days ago. There was a threat here, and she had to get out. She had seen nothing, but she felt it right down to the base of her spine. She flung herself off the bed and toward the windows, toward the porch, toward _away_.

She didn't get very far. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and spun her. She turned, slashing out with expert skill with the Bowie, but her assailant had apparently been waiting for that maneuver. He caught her wrist with a quick grab, twisted her arm behind her, and pulled her tight against his heavily muscled chest. Mary snarled in a mixture of frustration, rage, and no little fear as she realized who held her. This man was the reason she had a tattoo of wings on her hips. This was the man who had tried to take her wings permanently, had wanted to pull her claws for all time. This man was the darkness in the dream who had tried to drive her into the abyss.

"Let me go you son of a bitch! You're supposed to be dead!" She tried to kick back at him, tried to hook his knee with her foot to put him off balance, but with bare feet against his superior size and weight, she was ineffectual. His free hand came up to grab a huge painful handful of her hair and yank it hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Still sleeping with knives under your pillow?" A soft rumbling laugh sounded at her ear and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "I told you I would always come back for you, querida. You know I'm a man of my word." He twisted her hair like a leash around his hand and wrist, and she tried to turn her head to avoid his mouth despite the pain it caused, but she still felt his lips press against the corner of her own, and her stomach turned in revulsion.

_Oh God, somebody help me…it can't be him…he's dead…they told me he was dead…it just can't be Raph…_

---

Marshall had been camped out in the carriage house for several hours when he heard the noise. He'd had plenty of time to explore the neat little garage and Mary's beloved Charger, to be amused but not surprised by its illegal aspects, and to get exceptionally bored as was usual on a stakeout, especially one involving a long rainy night in what was essentially a car shed, even if was a posh one. He'd established which room was Mary's and enjoyed very much watching her pass by the windows a couple of times in her pajamas before the power had gone off. When the electricity had died, he'd simply set himself up with a view of the house and resigned himself for a dull night of necessary reconnaissance.

He heard her cry out, and he reacted instantly, hand flying to his weapon, and then stopped himself. It sounded like someone yelling in her sleep, and it wouldn't do to give away his whole arrest plan by being an jumpy idiot.

---

Inside, Mary was trying to stay focused. Part of her just wanted to shut down completely and roll into a little ball until whatever was about to happen ended. This was not who or what she was, though. _Bastard tried to make me that one time before, tried to kill me because he couldn't do it. He may kill me tonight, but God as my witness, I am not going to give him the fucking satisfaction of seeing me afraid…. _

Raph had pulled his face back from hers and was studying her in the light provided by the flashes of lightning. The strobe light effect made the situation even less real and even more disturbing for some reason. _Like something out of a bad horror film or a high school haunted house. He can't really be here. They fucking told me he was DEAD…_

"You're so lovely, Mary. So beautiful. How could I stay away from you? You know how much I love you." His tone was that of an ardent, gentle lover, dreamy, calm, persuasive. Romance whispered in it. _Beautiful, if it wasn't laced with 90-proof goddamn insanity through and through...._

She laughed, unable to stifle the nervous, bitter quality of it, pulled hard at the hand holding the Bowie knife behind her, wishing viciously, fervently that she could free it for just a moment. "Yeah, Raph, you love me. You adore me so much you stabbed me in the fucking back both figuratively and literally. I almost bled to death and needed thirty-three stitches to close the wound. Let me return that display of affection, why don't you?"

His grip was like a vise, his eyes the unchanging dangerous tranquility of a death-dealer or madman. _He's both, he's both.... _"You were going to leave me, Mary. I couldn't let you leave me."

She bared her teeth at him and snarled, writhed against the iron band of his hand, "You were fucking somebody else on the side, you bastard! What was I supposed to do? Give you a medal?"

He laughed softly, frighteningly, shook his head, pulled her close to him, a parody of an embrace. "You know she was nothing to me. I told you all this then. You were gone for a long time on that job. I was…lonely. She could never be you, Mary. No woman will ever be you, ever feel like you." She heard him inhale the scent of her shampoo, felt an involuntary shudder chase down her spine.

He slid the hand not holding hers down her back in what should have been a slow, soothing circle, but instead made her every muscle tense. His fingers dipped under the edge of her t-shirt, found and traced the ridge of scar tissue he'd given her so long ago, now hidden from casual inspection by the wing tattoo. _You will NOT take them again. You will NEVER take my wings again._ His touch there triggered something beyond sanity in her own mind, and she raised her head back and smashed it into his nose, delighting in the feel of crunching cartilage, screaming at the top of her lungs as she did so.

Raph released her and stumbled back. She swiped out with the Bowie knife, but the blow with her head and the length of time her arm had been twisted sharply behind her caused her aim to be off. Off-balance with the force of her strike, she wound up falling to the floor, her hands and knees catching her. She had lost the knife as it slid across the polished heart-pine floor and just out of reach outside the door frame and into the hall. She scrambled after it, hearing Raph's roar of anger as he recovered enough to start after her. Panting, losing traction on the area rug, she managed to lay her fingertips on the knife when she felt his huge hot hands clutch her ankles and start to haul her backwards across the floor on her belly toward him.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!"

----

Marshall's adrenaline had almost calmed down from hearing Mary cry out in her sleep, and he was contemplating trying to find a safe perch to catch some sleep for himself when he heard her cry out again. This scream was totally unlike the other; it was the survival scream of someone who was in an all-out, odds-against-them, battle-to-the-end; it was the primal, heart-stopping battle cry of a warrior who is about to face a foe she knew she could not defeat. Such a call deserved a response, and he was in motion, headed for the house, rain sheeting across the planes of his high cheekbones before the last echoes of her desperation had faded from the air.

With Glock drawn, he approached the back of the house and slipped onto the screened sleeping porch. He moved cautiously toward the kitchen door to find one pane of glass had been professionally cut out and removed to allow access to the lock mechanisms within on the old-fashioned door. _Why the hell hadn't Shannon modernized this? I'm betting whoever this is wasn't supposed to know about this place or wasn't supposed to be a threat here..._

Marshall wished for light as he slipped through the unfamiliar kitchen. The only illumination came from the storm, and he memorized what he saw in the brief but frequent bursts as the storm escalated in intensity. He heard the sounds of a struggle coming from the second floor of the house near the front. _Bastard in is Mary's room with her. _His pace quickened even though he couldn't see where he was going very well. He relied on instinct to help him avoid the biggest objects and found the stairs quickly, crouching low and ascending them by feel.

When he got to the top, he saw a huge knife come skittering out of the door to rest in a slow turn on the floor of the hallway. Moments later, a hand shot out to grasp after it desperately. As if the body the hand was attached to was being dragged, the hand retreated into the room, and Marshall heard Mary's angry, frightened voice screaming obscenities.

_Whatever this is, it's bad. Really, really bad._

He pressed himself against the interior wall and slid closer to the door, hearing Mary again as he did so.

"Let me go, goddamn you. Let me go, you fucker!"

A male voice, deep, accented, and unnaturally calm given the situation, responded, "Mary, Mary, I've told you so many times. When are you going to listen? There will be no more 'letting go.' You are mine. I am yours. We belong to each other."

Marshall couldn't see what was happening from where he stood, but he heard Mary's voice break with her next words, hated the sound.

"Raph...don't..."

"We were always good at this part, though..." Amused, patronizing laughter.

Marshall stepped around the door facing, Glock held in combat stance. The lightning flickered and illuminated Mary pulling away hard from a large, handsome, muscular man with tawny skin and dark hair. He was kneeling on the floor and had her by the backs of her knees, slowly drawing her backwards across his lap. She was clawing like a cat to get away from him, trying to find purchase somehow on the smooth floor, trying to get back to the knife that lay tauntingly near but too far to be of any real use to her, trying to kick at him, but unable to break his hold.

The two of them saw him at exactly the same time. Mary's eyes held first astonishment, then relief. The man she'd called Raph's eyes held only fury. He bared his teeth at Marshall in a menacing feral growl and lunged from his position on the floor. Marshall fired a shot, but with the motion and the random illumination, even at this close range, he knew he hadn't made a killing wound. Raph staggered backwards and Marshall tracked him with the Glock, pulled the trigger again, but Raph dove, and the bullet blew a chunk of plaster out of the wall.

Raph ran for one of the long windows and threw himself against it. The wood and glass shattered instantly, wind swirling in, moisture and humidity from the raging storm outside filling the air and whisking away some of the harsh acrid scent of gunsmoke. Marshall ran after him, out onto the porch in time to see him vault the railing, use a trellis to climb nimbly down and sprint across the yard toward the river, staying close to the tree line. Marshall fired off two more rounds, but in the intermittent light he could not be sure he'd hit anything other than an oak tree or the muddy sodden Mississippi earth. He waited for another flash to assess his chances of taking a successful shot and then turned back to the damaged room behind him.

---

Mary sat in a shivering heap in the middle of the rug where he'd left her. She wanted desperately to move, needed to get up from this floor in the worst way, but she couldn't make her legs obey her just yet. Her legs were pulled tightly to her chest with her arms circling her knees, and she rested her forehead against them, feeling the shudders pass through her the way the wind was currently billowing the long sheers through the broken window.

_I'll get it together in just a minute. I just need another minute to fall apart. It will all be okay in just a minute.... It's so cold, though. When the hell did it get so fucking cold?  
_

She was aware of Marshall checking the porch, knew that she really needed to be running from him, knew that just his presence in the room meant problems for her, but all she could think about, all she had been able to think about since she'd looked up and seen him in the doorway with his gun was _Oh thank you Jesus, look it's Marshal Marshall Mann, and now it's all okay.... _ It was going around in a singsong in her head, in fact. _It's Marshal Marshall Mann, and now it's all okay... _

His footsteps crossed the room, and he hesitated a few feet from her. She heard him holster the weapon.

"Mary?" His voice was gentle, hesitant.

_I think I'm still in here somewhere. Maybe. Please leave a message after the tone, and I'll get right back to you....Maybe when I'm not so damn cold.... _She did not respond other than to shift slightly. She was still shuddering.

She heard the sound of fabric rustling and then felt warmth surround her, the scent of lavender. _The quilt from the bed. John Patrick and Daddy's mom made this. Family. _She let go of her knees to take the folds of fabric in her hands, feeling its age, feeling through it the strength her family gave her. She stayed that way until she felt strong enough again to deal with what had happened, until she remembered that this time, Raph hadn't been able to take her wings, and she raised her head. Sometime during the time she had her head down, the power company managed to fight its way through the raging storm and restore service, and the lights flickered back on.

Marshall was sitting on the floor near her feet, hands on his knees, in a tiny puddle of dampness, clothes clinging to him and hair still stuck to his forehead, patient and waiting. They stared at each other for a long moment, each trying to assess the other based on all the new information they'd had flung at them in the brief moments of the night. She cocked her head to the side and slipped one hand out from under the quilt, held it out to him.

Marshall looked at it consideringly, as though he'd never seen a human hand before, and after a long minute reached out to tangle her fingers together with his own. She tugged at him lightly, and he let himself be drawn toward her, scooting across the floor toward where she sat so that he was more or less beside her. She took her hand out of his long enough to flip the quilt around his shoulders and settle it back around both of them, making a sort of cocoon, before reaching down unerringly to find his hand waiting palm-up for hers again.

She leaned in very, very slowly, watching him the whole time for any signs of wariness of disturbance, and kissed him gently, sweetly on his cheek. His eyes met hers and searched them briefly. Satisfied with whatever answer he saw there, at least for the time being, he wrapped his arm around her, tucked her head against his shoulder, and held her as she allowed exhaustion to take her. Her last thought was, _It's Marshal Marshall Mann, and now it's all okay....

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**_Okay, so probably not where you thought it was going, but I hope you enjoyed the ride. Get your oven mitts on my friends, and prepare for a citrus infusion. I know several of you were jonesing for it this chapter, but you know what they say about good things and waiting... _**

**_Let me know what you thought about this one, please. Reviews keep me writing. _**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **

** Okay, oven mitts are not quite needed yet. Don't shoot me. We're getting there.... In fact, I'm getting there right now, fingers flying over keys as you read. It takes time to get all the pulp out of these darn lemons...

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No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens. ~Abraham Lincoln

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For a time, there was only the sound of rain spattering down on the wooden porch railing, gurgling down through the ancient guttering, and the wind twisting the resistant arms of the old oaks. Gusts of clinging wetness came through the broken window, unseasonably cold, but inside the safe shelter of the old quilt and Marshall's arms, Mary remained warm. The storm showed no signs of abating, and in fact, after awhile, there was a loud crack of lightning, and the electricity went out again.

_The guys who work for the power company down here really earn their pay. Damn. I'd hate to know I had to be out in this trying to do anything. _Marshall shifted a little, and his wet jeans bit into his legs uncomfortably. He smiled at the irony of his earlier thought. _Correction. I hate to know I have __**had**__ to be out in this trying to do something now that it's all over. _He wasn't cold under the quilt but the sticky, clinging damp of his clothing was a nuisance. _I feel like a wet dog. _Mary nestled against him a little more closely, and he was acutely aware of the feel of her pressed against his side in the darkness. _It can't be comfortable for her, either, but she doesn't seem to mind too much. I wonder if I could just get her over to her bed. We'd both have to be more comfortable that way, and I need to make a couple of calls...._

He slowly maneuvered himself to his knees and scooped her into his arms, surprised at how thoroughly out she was when she only curled her herself into him. _Exhausted, I guess. All that adrenaline and stress ran her system completely down. _He managed to stand in the darkness and was heading toward the bed when she murmured, "No. Don't want to stay in here, please. Anywhere else but here, okay?"

Marshall looked the barely visible outline of the broken window, could still feel the wet nastiness of the air pervading the room, the heavy atmosphere of the storm, and understood. He shifted her weight in his arms and contemplated trying to get her down the hall in the darkness. As if she were reading his mind, she turned her face against his neck, saying in a distracting sigh, "Flashlight in the bedside table..."

_Always love to make things easy for me, don't you, Mary? _Wry amusement shot through him at his predicament. He was soaked to the bone getting colder and more uncomfortable by the minute, had his arms full of the warm, curvy weight of her drowsing, trusting form, and now she wanted him to juggle the flashlight, too? "Need you to put your arms around my neck a minute, then..."

She did, and he really, for a moment, was torn between thinking that his request was the single most brilliant thing he'd ever come up with and wondering what the hell was wrong with him as her arms circled his neck, pressing her tightly against him. She made a little sound right next to his ear as she did it as the thin fabric of her t-shirt encountered the wet from his own rain-soaked clothing, and she wiggled a little. _Jee-zuus... Breathe. Breathe. Get the damn flashlight so you can get her off you. Wait, so I can get her off me? I want her off me? Yes, idiot. That was the general plan..... But... she feels so....**nice**.... _

He managed to use one quick hand to pull the drawer open, balancing her weight on his knee, and grabbed the flashlight. He clicked it on, grateful to finally have more illumination than just that still being provided, although far less frequently now, by nature. He played the beam across the room briefly, and he saw the glass from the broken window glitter like diamond shards. He also saw a very satisfying streak of blood heading for the window. _I at least grazed the son of a bitch, then. _He carried Mary down the hall and looked into the first room he encountered.

She had not specified where she wanted to be taken, so the choice would have to be his. The flashlight beam played along the floors to illuminate an old-fashioned simple cast-iron bedstead for a full-size bed. A colorful blue and green peacock chenille bedspread covered the bed, and all around the room were lovely, girlish odds and ends. _Yeah, not this one, _Marhsall thought, flashlight returning to the simple vertical bars of the headboard. He laughed just a little, softly. _Still got the marks from the last time around, thank you very much. Hate to say I've developed a metal headboard phobia, but...._

The next room he came to had a far less personal feel to it. There were no knickknacks scattered around, no photos in frames. The bed was a simple elegant queen four-poster, and it was covered in a heavy cream old-fashioned looking cotton bedspread. _Think my grandmother had one like that. Martha Washington pattern, if I remember correctly. This will do nicely. _He moved to the bed, pulled back the spread, and gently laid her down. He sat the flashlight up on its end on the dresser near the mirror, and its light provided a dim glow that partially illuminated the room.

_Need to make some calls now. She'll be okay. _He stared at her a moment longer and was turning to leave when she sat up suddenly, alarmed, eyes searching the room for a threat. When she found him standing near the door, relief flickered in her eyes, replacing panic.

She smiled a little, strain still in it. "Thought I was supposed to be the one who hotfoots it out of town in the middle of the night, Marshal Marshall. Thought they trained you boys to be tougher than that. I didn't know a little psycho ex-boyfriend action would make you cut and run. Have to remember that for when it's useful. You know, like garlic and crosses for warding off vampires or something."

He laughed, crossed back to stand beside the bed. _Guess I can wait to call. Nobody's going to find a damn thing, anyway, outside in this storm. If he comes back in this house, I will make him a very dead psycho ex-boyfriend.... As for her...._

"Who says I was hotfooting it anywhere?"

She wrapped her arms around her knees, laid her chin on them, tilted her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. "You had that look about you. That, 'this has gotten to be more shit than it's worth' look."

"I think you're sadly underestimating the fortitude and stamina of the U.S. Marshal service, Mary. This, tonight, this was just...vacation fun."

"Then Jesus, Marshall, I'd really fucking hate to see your idea of a bad day at work."

_Yeah, Mary. Yeah you would. They're the kinds of days you can't forget. But really, I think maybe you've seen things just as bad if what I saw in there was any indication. I wonder how bad it got, how bad it really was. I need to pull your file again....I remember there was a notation about you being in the hospital, some kind of serious wound, an accident, an injury...._

Her voice broke him out of his reverie. "So one wonders why you're continuing to stand there making a damp patch on the floorboards.... Are you just ubermodest, or do you have a thing for wet denim?"

Her abrupt change of conversation topics left him a little behind. "What?"

"I was asking," she said in the slow patient tones of someone talking to a person of limited mental capacity, "if you liked being in wet clothing or if you'd like to change. I guess that didn't quite come through, though...."

"Oh." _Brilliant rejoinder, Marshall. Bravo. Witty banter. Top-drawer. Show off that high IQ. Dazzle her. _"Yeah, these jeans are getting really uncomfortable." _My God...._

She simply slid back the comforter and took the flashlight, pausing in the doorway to look back at him over her shoulder. "Not scared of the dark, are you?" She didn't give him a chance to answer, just smiled something much more like her sassy usual grin than he'd seen at all since he arrived, and slipped down the hall toward the room at the end. He saw the light bob away, heard the sound of doors and drawers being opened.

_What the hell are you doing, Marshall? Why haven't you called this in yet? You should have a whole army of Mississippi Marshals down here locking this house down, helping you get her ready for transport. For all you know, she's climbing out a damn window and running right now getting ready to make you look like the King of Idiots again. Do you really think she's bringing you a pair of silly pajamas and getting ready to tuck you in and kiss you nighty-night? I have but one word for you, Mann, zipties. _

He slipped his cellphone out of his pocket, pressed a button on his speed dial, had a brief, terse conversation, and put it away quickly.

---

Mary knew there had to be a pair of her dad's pajamas left in the house somewhere. John Patrick's stuff would not fit Marshall; Marshall was too tall and much thinner. Her dad was built along those same lines even if he had put on weight in his later years. She rummaged around through the drawers and managed to locate a couple of pairs of men's flannel sleep pants. The first pair her flashlight been fell on was a staid blue and black plaid, and she grabbed it out of reflex, but when she drew it from the drawer, she saw the pair that was folded under it, and she laughed, considered, and took it instead. _Well, anybody who could wear Monty Python of their own free will...._

When she returned to the room, Marshall was still standing just where she'd left him. He had a frown on his face, his brows drawn down, every line reflecting deep concentration. _Ah well, he's __started thinking then, hasn't he? That's probably not good. Wonder if that scowl is for Raph, for me, or.... _She decided that instead of trying to figure it out, she'd just do what she could to distract him, and she waved her find triumphantly before tossing them at him. "Here. Do you a world of good. Maybe you won't be so grumpy in those."

Marshall reflexively caught the flannel as it flew at him, and as she returned the flashlight to its position near the mirror to reflect its light, he saw a pair of bright red flannel pajamas with water-skiing Santa Clauses and elves on them. Santa was wearing sunglasses and appeared to be a bit sunburned. The elves were in little swimsuits of varying types. The towboat was being driven by Rudolph. They were some of the tackiest Christmas pajamas he'd ever seen. He was instantly in love.

"Where did you find these?" Marshall said, smoothing a reverent hand over the vivid fabric.

"I believe they were a gift from my sister to my dad when she was a kid," Mary. "We spent a Christmas here one year, and I think these may have gotten, um...accidentally left behind...when we went back home." She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. _He really does have a thing about those damn pajamas doesn't he?_

"So what are you waiting for? Change, already. You're making me uncomfortable just looking at you, you know."

He looked up from the pajamas and around the small room. He gave her a wicked little smile, eyebrow climbing, before speaking, "Guess it's true what they say, you can take the girl out of Vegas.... Looking for a strip show then? Want me to change right here?"

_Oh look. He's playful again. And all it took was Santa pants. Love it. Glad I picked those instead of the others, then. _She slowly walked toward him, hooked the top button of his damp shirt with her fingertip making sure to brush against his skin as much as possible, undid it, left her finger in contact with him, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed suddenly. She leaned in close and whispered, "Don't ever offer it, Marshall, unless you're really willing to give it to me. I just might take you up on your offer, and then what would you do?" His eyes fluttered closed, and she smiled again.

_So much fun to play with. And I'm not done. But... _"Down the hall. Second door." She stepped back from him, climbed back into the high bed, sat down cross-legged, and looked at him. "Take the flashlight," she teased. "I'd hate for you not to be able to find all the relevant bits and pieces."

He opened his eyes, and the look he gave her was unreadable in the dim light. "Be right back, then."

"I'll be here."

---

Marshall stripped his wet clothes off and hung them over the shower rod to dry. He ran a hand over his face as he looked in the mirror.

_What she does to me...._

_What she does to you is key you up, get you off balance, and then basically hand you your ass. Or hadn't you noticed that pattern yet?_

_Yeah, but, you were there, too. Don't you remember her mouth and....and...._

_Don't give me that shit. You're a U.S. Marshal. She is a criminal. Cowboy up. You're staying here because you need to keep her under control and under protection from the other criminal who apparently tried to kill her tonight. That's it. So put on your damn Santa pants and get on with it._

_---_

Mary had dashed down the hall to her own room the minute he'd closed the bathroom door. There were one or two things she needed to do, and she needed to make a phone call of her own. She didn't need the flashlight in this house. She'd spent too many nights here not to know how to get along in the darkness. She was back and sitting in the same position before he returned.

Mary's thoughts had been running along similar lines to Marshall's but with different conclusions while he'd been getting out of his wet things. She, too, had been thinking back to the night at the Phoenix Dream when she'd tried to talk him out of chasing her and they'd wound up....

_On fire. God, on fire is the best way to describe it. I wonder if he thinks about it at all. Thinks about the way his mouth fit mine, the way it felt when...when..._

Marshall appeared in the doorway of the room wearing the t-shirt she'd found, just a little too small, and the red Santa pants, which fit him as though they'd been purchased just for him. The sight of him in the silly pants made her smile, made something inside her shift in a way she wasn't entirely sure she liked. _Lookit. He's not just sexy as all hell, he's also...cute...._

"Well, I wouldn't say this to just anybody, but you make those look good, Marshall."

He looked down at the water-skiing Santas and laughed a little. "Thanks, I think." He had the contents of his pockets, his phone and his badge and gun in his hands. "Ah...I'll just go see about finding a place to perch, I guess, for the remainder of the evening, then."

She could feel his withdrawal from her like a hand taken from a shared grasp. She wasn't sure what had caused it, but she refused to accept the change from the playful man she knew could be found under than cool exterior. _Oh no. Oh no you don't. Oh no you won't. You're not getting away from me now. Get your Santa pants back here, Mister. _

He had laid down the flashlight and was using his phone as illumination to head out of the room toward the room across the hall. Mary let her voice soften just a little as she said his name.

"Marshall? Where are you going?"

He stopped, and turned. "To bed. In there."

She shook her head, turned down the other side of the comforter. "Stay in here. With me. I...don't want to sleep alone tonight."

He watched her warily from the door, his expression undecided. Finally, he came back to the turned down side of the bed, sat for a moment, put this things in the dresser drawer, and pulled his long legs up next on the bed to sit beside her. For a moment, they just looked at each other. He seemed to be trying to make some kind of decision about something. Then he reached out and hooked a strand of her hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing her neck briefly as he did, and he said, "Goodnight, Mary. Don't worry. You're not alone tonight. You've got me right here."

She savored the feeling of his soft touch._ No, Marshall. Not yet. But any old minute now...._

She smiled, lay down, pulled the covers up, and switched off the flashlight.

---

He was going to die. _No. That was the horrible part. You couldn't actually die from this condition; you just wished that you could. Oh dancing devils in hell, why did I agree to sleep in this bed with this woman with only Santa pants as protection?_

Mary was pressed against him in sleep, her back pressed to his front. He supposed she'd been cold still because he'd dozed briefly only to awaken to the feeling of her luscious derriere pressed into his groin, her entire body shaping itself to the curve of his, her legs sliding sensuously down to insinuate themselves between and around his flannel-covered ones. The sensation of her there was bad enough, but she wasn't a still sleeper, and every wiggle and snuggle was making the situation more serious.

_If she wakes up, you're going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do...._

He tried to inch away from her slightly, rolled over onto his back, but he was running out of bed. She'd managed to back him almost all the way to the edge. He gritted his teeth as she turned over suddenly. _Oh no. Tactical error. _She burrowed back into him, and now there really was nowhere to run. Her arm slid across his chest, hand resting almost exactly over his racing heart, her face pressed against his neck, her breasts flattened against his own chest, and he could actually feel her breath hitting him. Her legs restlessly moved against his, seeking a comfortable position until she finally just threw one over his waist and seemed satisfied with that.

_Shaking. I'm actually shaking. Maybe the psycho will come back. Maybe I'll have to get up and shoot at something. That would be good. Oh God.... She's so soft and lush and hot and I want to...I want to... but I can't...._

He groaned softly, stared up at the ceiling. At his sound, she made a little one of her own, right near his ear. "Mmm...."

_I'm in hell. It's a gorgeous hell, but I'm absolutely burning. _Unable to help himself, he moved on the bed not sure whether he was trying to get closer or away.

He was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that the hand she'd flung over his heart was moving. The tips of her fingers were making slow little circles there, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow. He turned his head to look down at her. _Burning...._

Even in the almost complete darkness of the early morning room, he could see her eyes. She was awake and watching him. Her hand expanded its motion, flattening the palm to make larger wider caresses, hand slipping down the flat ridged plane of his abdomen.

He caught her hand with his unsteady one, grip firm, saying nothing. She continued to gaze at him, undaunted, fingers moving despite his restraint on her wrist. A little smile crossed her lips. He could feel every stroke of those fingers on his belly as if they were little drops of flame.

_She knows exactly what she's doing to me. Knows exactly what I feel. And oh, I think it's time for some payback in kind. _He switched off the lawman who was still calling for him to get out of the bed and back in control of himself and rolled toward her, releasing the need that had only been getting stronger in him since the very first time she'd brushed her mouth against him, maybe since the very first time he'd opened her file and seen her face, read her story so long ago.

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**Don't throw things. Instead, hit the green button for stress relief. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **

**At last, citrus. Sorry for the delay. Um...M, people. Seriously. Lots.

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It is not sex that gives the pleasure, but the lover. ~Marge Piercy

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She was surprised by his sudden move, but she welcomed it. _Took you long enough, Marshall. I shouldn't have to do it all._ She smiled as he rose above her, found his grip on that one hand charming, even. _Trying to keep me from running away, Marshall? Don't worry. Something I want here, first... _He stared down at her, eyes intense, pupils dilated, and suddenly she found herself a little less confident of her handiwork and her ability to control the situation as she felt her body respond to the demand in his gaze.

_Oh shit...but you know what...I have always been a fan of fast, powerful, sleek machines, of putting the pedal down hard and taking them for a wild ride out on the edges of control. Let's see what you've got under that button-down exterior, Marshall...._

So she smiled up at him, deliberately arch, deliberately provocative, wiggled underneath him, _turning the key in the ignition, revving the engine a little. _

He saw the challenge and lust in her eyes, but he lowered his mouth to hers softly, gently, not the kiss she was expecting. It was a tasting, delicate kiss. He released her hand to cup her face gently, run his thumb along her jawline. Before their kisses had been all explosion and flame right from the beginning. She could feel him vibrating with the effort it took to control the want, to keep this kiss tender, sweet. It made her ache.

She opened her lips for him, wanting the feel of his tongue against her own. He sucked her bottom lip briefly before giving her what she wanted, and her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders at the slow friction and glide. He changed the angle of his head to deepen the kiss, and she couldn't stop the tiny noise that escaped her, felt him smile against her mouth.

_Oh that won't do... Can't have him getting too arrogant no matter how good he is at this... Time to level this playing field a bit._

She slid her hands down his back, found the tail of the too-small shirt, and drew it up, allowing her nails to scrape ever-so-subtly against his skin as she did. He shivered and pulled away from her long enough to help her finish removing the shirt. He flung it one-handed to the side, not caring where it landed, and leaned back over her, ducking his head for her mouth again, his kiss harder, briefer, open-mouthed.

She pushed up with her hips, flipping him over and settling astride him. She reached to the bedside table for a minute and clicked on the flashlight, pointing it at the ceiling again. His eyes winced as he adjusted to the light, and he looked at her with that raised brow.

She smiled, ran her hands up his chest and kissed him before whispering in his ear, "I want to be able to see your face when I make you scream in a few minutes, Marshall...." She felt his body react, felt a shiver run through him at her words, felt him so wonderfully hard where she straddled his waist, a physical reminder of that other night, those other kisses.

Then he laughed, and his hands slid up her body underneath the t-shirt she wore to cup her breasts, long fingers seeking her nipples to gently circle, to pluck and tease. His mouth found her earlobe and he sucked it before saying in tones that left her weak with lust, "Who says I'm going to be screaming alone, Mary?" Her head fell back and he sat up, lips pressing against her collarbone then moving slowly up her neck, nuzzling, caressing, exploring, looking for the sensitive spots, settling in to make her shift and sigh against him. _He is really, really very good at this...._ His hands continued their slow, unhurried enjoyment of her breasts another moment, then slipped down to catch her shirt and pull it slowly upwards.

"Turn-about is fair play...." he murmured against her ear, slipping the tip of his tongue briefly against it. She shuddered both at the sensation of his kiss and at the coolness of the air as he revealed her body. His gaze was a physical sensation on her breasts, and she felt her already aroused nipples tighten even further in anticipation of and longing for whatever that heat in his stare was promising. His eyes went lower, down her gentle curves to the waist band of the boxer shorts she still wore, before coming back to her face. "Mary," he all that he said, his voice deeper, huskier, and that one word was filled with such desire that she felt more beautiful than if she had been wearing the most expensive lingerie, more beautiful than she had ever felt in her entire life.

He lowered his head and she felt the wet heat of his mouth engulf her breast. Her hands clasped his head, fingers tightening in his hair, a low groan of pleasure escaping her. Her hips rocked against his gently as she felt his teeth graze her nipple, his tongue circle. He laved her, moved his attention to her other breast, gave it the same meticulous, sensuous treatment. _Ohgodohgod, it's zero to one hundred in five seconds flat and all I can do is hold on.... _

Marshall rolled her beneath him again, mouth seeking hers, hot, open, all demand, no request. One hand skimmed down her ribcage to the curve of her waist, sliding under the band of the boxers she wore to grip her hip, fingertips tracing mind-destroying circles against bare skin. He pulled away from her briefly to sit back on his knees and he hooked the boxers with his index fingers, eyes blue, wild, on hers.

"Raise your hips for me," he murmured. Mary did not take direction in bed. It without fail made her feel confined, cheapened, embarrassed, restrained. So she couldn't explain how or why his low demand just made her muscles go weak and her head roll back. She did what he asked, pushing her pelvis into the air, and he slipped the boxers and her panties off her hips, then down her legs, tossing them after his shirt into the darkness beyond the pool of light from the upturned flashlight. She lay staring up at him, watching him devour her new nakedness with his eyes, unable to stop herself from shifting on the bed under that molten blue gaze.

He placed the flat of his palms on her calves, ran his hands up the inside of her thighs, crawled back up the bed toward her. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her knee, another to her inner thigh. She could not breathe, could not move, could not look away. Her hands flexed helplessly on the rumpled bedding as his fingertips grazed her where she ached for him most, a teasing, delicate touch. A gasp escaped her, and still she was bound by his eyes.

He rose above her again, his mouth finding hers, opening hers, plundering, and she felt his wicked fingers parting her, exploring her below, and she could not control the shudder that wracked her as he traced slow, slippery circles around her clitoris. Her breath caught and stuttered. He smiled again against her mouth, breaking the kiss, pulled away, hand continuing its steady motion. "Now let's see about making you scream...."

He lowered his head to join his clever busy hand, and in a very short time, she did scream. She was pulling at his shoulders, sinking in fingernails sharply enough to draw blood. He did not stop, in fact only increased the pleasurable torture, licking, sucking, and she was beyond restraint, beyond thought. She felt as though she'd been thrown off a cliff, flying through the air completely out of control, as if she'd crashed through a railing hydroplaning backwards at lightspeed. It was glorious. It was everything. It wasn't enough.

He was lying beside her, holding her as she came down, breathing hard, and she felt the bulge of him pressed against her belly. She slid her hand down his chest, and cupped him through the flannel fabric as she'd wanted to do that very first night, measuring him with her fingertips, the span of him against her palm. He groaned and nuzzled her neck, arching slightly to press himself against her hand.

No longer content with touching him with any barrier between them, she skimmed her nails down his chest, claws raking lightly, and she encircled him, squeezing gently, thumb seeking the sensitive underside. "God, yes," he choked out. "Been waiting, imagining...."

_Imagining? Naughty Marshall. Have to know more about that later. Right now, though..._

It was her turn to strip the silly pants from him. _Sorry, Santa. Don't think you want to be a part of what I'm about to do here...._ The red flannel peeled down to reveal to her eyes what her hands and her body had already been reveling in. _Oh Marshall, next time you offer to strip for me, I will SO let you perform.... Yee-hah, Cowboy Up. _She continued to stroke him, eyes holding his, watching them unfocus and blur. He leaned forward, claiming her mouth urgently. One of his hands slid to her breast, the other slid between her legs, to the wet and swollen sensitive heat of her, his caresses matching the pace of hers, frying her brain's capacity for rational thought. Their hands became frantic, their mouths clinging, and he broke the kiss suddenly.

"Mary..." the tone was gravelly, desperate, "...I need....I need..." He dropped his face to her neck, kissed her open-mouthed where her neck joined her shoulder. She shuddered. _If I don't have him now... _She fumbled her hand into the bedside dresser drawer for one of the items she'd gone back to her bedroom for earlier, and took out a condom, quickly slipped it on him. She rolled to her back, opening her thighs in invitation, pulling at his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his weight settling onto her, the heat of his hardness resting so teasingly close to where she wanted it most.

"Now, Marshall. Oh God, now." She arched. His hands gripped; his hips plunged and he was deep, deep inside her.

_Flying, flying, and not alone. So good, so GOOD. Oh, I am going to keep you, Marshall. You are mine now. You just don't know it yet.... More. More. Oh God, MORE._

She didn't know she'd said the last part aloud, but his lust-addled brain registered her moaned words like spurs driving him to thrust harder, deeper. Every sensation was heightened, multiplied. He hitched her legs higher, searching for an angle to bring them both more pleasure, a savage happiness spreading through him when he heard her cry out again, wordless now.

_That's right. Scream for me again, Mary. So hot, so tight. Never thought it could ever be...never thought she would taste like, feel like... You want more? I'll give you all you want, all I have...._

She came, the pleasure exploding through her, her body convulsing around him, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on his back, breaking his rhythm and self-control, stripping him bare, pulling him into the abyss after her, and he collapsed on top of her, her arms going around him, holding him tightly to her.

---

Marshall woke to the whoosh of air conditioning coming on and the various beeps of household products regaining their electric current. A golden glow was coming through the doorway of the bedroom, illuminating the bed enough for him to see Mary's naked form sprawled face down next to him. Her hair was tousled across the pillow, and she was taking up far more than than her half of the bed, but since she was draped across his chest in the process, he wasn't going to complain.

A slow smile spread as he studying the curve of her naked ass in the light from the hallway. _Nope, not complaining at all. That's a sight worth putting up with a great many hardships for.... _He brought his hand up to caress the enticing flesh. Something else caught his eyes.

_What the...?_ Tattooed across her lower back, just above her enticing backside were a pair of very detailed wings, palest blue with dark blue and green highlights, like the wings of a beautiful and exotic bird spread in flight. The unusual tattoo spread almost from hip to hip. Unable to resist, his hand slid up, and his fingertips lightly traced over it.... _You've felt her claws. So here are her wings...._ She stirred under his touch, frowning slightly, and suddenly his fingertips encountered a ridge under the tattoo design that could only be scar tissue.

His stopped his hand instantly, instinctively. _She had an injury or wound, a serious one.... Freedom is so important to her.... Psycho ex-boyfriend...._ He hesitantly continued his exploration of the scar, and each inch of its length made something in him want to both weep and kill. The scar was as wide as a pencil and ran in a low curving arc from her left hipbone to just past her spine. _It's a wonder the bastard didn't paralyze her. _His hand was shaking as he ran the length of it again, slowly, deliberately. Mary's voice startled him.

"Ugly, isn't it?" He became aware of the stiffness of her body against his. She'd turned into a marble statue in his arms sometime while he'd been engaged in his inspection of her secret scar.

"He did it?" Neither of them needed to say the name.

"Yeah. I was leaving him. He has a real problem with people telling him no. I think you saw that earlier." She laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. She shifted, and he felt her withdrawing from him even though her body remained draped across his own, even though his hand was still lightly tracing the wide band of scar tissue across her lower back.

"Tell me about the tattoo."

She stilled, clearly caught off-guard. This, then, was not what she'd expected him to say. "What?"

"The tattoo. It must be special to you. The wings. You told me twice about wings, and here they are."

She looked at him, an uncertain light in her eyes as if she were trying to decide whether or not he were serious. Finally, she propped her head on the hand that was resting on his chest and sighed.

"For a long time....after....all I could see was the scar. It took thirty-three stitches to close the wound. He...made sure that it wouldn't....when he cut me...that they couldn't...." Marshall felt his temper heating. _Next time I see that fucker will be the last time I see him.... _"Anyway, there was not going to be delicate and pretty stitching for me. They were lucky to keep me alive. Every time I looked in the mirror, there was only that huge red gash, and every time I saw it, I could see him, feel his hands on me, feel his breath in my ear, hear the things he said when he dragged the blade through me...." Her voice trailed off. _And I told her she had no idea about my bad days at work. Oh Mary, Mary. I'm so sorry. _ His hand spread, circled soothingly, pressed her against him.

"I couldn't go out of the house. I couldn't stay inside. I was destroyed, basically. And I hated myself for it. One morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw that red line, and I told myself, 'He won. He killed you. You just haven't realized it yet and fallen down.' And I fell down in the floor and I cried for about an hour. Then I got up, and I was just mad as hell. It felt so good to be mad instead of hopeless. I looked in the mirror again, and I told that reflection to go to hell. I went downstairs and J.P. took me to the best tattoo parlor in Vegas to have this done. Nobody will ever take my wings again." There was a look of something so beautiful and fierce on her face that Marshall was briefly stunned. It was like looking into the face of some pagan deity. _She is in every way remarkable beyond my ability to describe...._

He shifted her off him and she looked a little confused. He knelt beside her, and he bent to kiss her.

"Marshall..." The puzzled wary look was back.

"Shhh...." He placed his hand gently on her shoulder and pushed her back down on the mattress. He ran his hands down her shoulders to the tattoo, the symbol of her resurgence over pain, her freedom from someone who had tried to destroy her. He traced the outer edge of them slowly, ran his thumb over the ridge they hid.

She watched him over her shoulder a moment. "I know...even with the tattoo, once you know it's there, it's hard to miss...." _She thinks I'm disgusted. Other men have had a problem with. She's had other men who can't handle what happened to her. She's been with the wrong kind of men._

Marshall lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the small of her back where the scar was the widest, where the wings joined and the colors were boldest. She shivered.

"There is not one single place," he paused to press another soft kiss to the beautiful design, to the symbol of survival, "not one single inch of you," another kiss, "anywhere, inside or out," another, "that is not completely," another, "thoroughly," another "and utterly," another, lingeringly this time, "lovely."

He had kissed the scar from one end to the other, and he looked up to meet Mary's eyes. Something shown in them, bright and fragile, and she held her hand out to him in the same way she had sitting on the floor amongst the shattered pieces of glass in her bedroom. He took it and she pulled him down into a sweet, soft, long kiss.

She slid her leg over his hip, grasping him, finding him ready for her. He slid into her slowly this time, filling her completely, and he pulled her on top of him to watch her take him even more deeply. She arched her back, and his hands streaked up her to fill his hands with her breasts. She rotated her hips slowly, moaning his name as he began to tease her nipples gently, soothe them with his thumbs. Her hips sped up as her desire built, and he reached down to grasp them, hold her speed to a slow grind that was setting them both aflame.

"Marshall," she growled at him, leaning down to claim his mouth for a kiss.

"Slowly. Slowly. Not time to spread those wings yet...." He slipped his thumb between her legs to where she ground against him, pressed it hard against her as she rode him, so that she also moved against his finger, the extra stimulation making her head fall back in mindless pleasure. He could feel her nearing her peak, and he began to thrust up against up her, a deliberate counterpoint to her rhythm. He placed both his hands on her tattoo and leaned up to kiss her, hard, whispering in her ear, "Fly, Mary. Fly." He bent he her backwards, thrusting upwards hard, twice, and her eyes went completely blank as he flung her into cloudless skies and she soared.

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**Okay. The lemon was squeezed all the way down to the rind. Now you owe me a review....**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Everybody seems to be feeling much less tension now that we've all had our key lime pie. As a Southern girl, I'm always glad when people enjoy my cookin'. :) On with the show...

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Freedom lies in being bold. ~Robert Frost

Boldness is a mask for fear, however great. ~John Dryden

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Mary woke savoring the warm sunlight spilling into the room and the unfamiliar feeling of being held in a man's arms. _Not in just any man's arms...in this man's arms, this surprising Marshall Mann man's arms.... _She stretched like a cat, looking up into his still-sleeping face, at the little lines around his eyes, at the angular planes of his face now covered with stubble.

Occasionally she had playmates, but she did not stay in their beds nor allow them to stay with her in whatever temporary place she took them of her own. She had not done so in longer than she was comfortable remembering. After the first one or two men she'd been able to bring herself to care about seriously enough to try to develop something like a relationship after she'd recovered from Raph had become aware of the scar, after the story had been pulled from her in a late-night pillow conversation, she'd seen either pity or horror in their eyes, and that fierce, proud creature in her been unable to bear it. It had been as if Raph had been behind her again, her hands bound, knee and body holding hers down, whispering those endearments he'd rendered obscenities as he'd slowly, somehow hellishly-lovingly carved her open...

She had been ready for another such moment with Marshall last night, another reopening of the same old emotional wound via its physical remnant when she'd been pulled out of her light doze to feel his long fingers tracing the scar, and she had been surprised by the depth of regret she'd felt. She'd cursed the returning electricity, her accidental forgetting to sleep on her back or her side, and then she'd resigned herself to answer the curious questions she could practically feel flowing from his touch. What had come next...

The feel of his gentle touch on the place where such violence had been done to her, the lack of pity, the lack of revulsion..._his words, he called me beautiful...how many men have done that unless they've been trying to get me in the sack, been trying to get the fast fuck and away...._ She'd heard the difference in his words, felt the difference in his hands from those greedy grasping meaningless complements designed to get in, get it on, get off, and get away. She'd felt so beautiful with his hands on her, his eyes on her as he'd pulled her on top of him, as his hands had stroked over the place she'd only been able to think of with anger, hate, revulsion, or bitterness, and when he'd told her to fly, something inside her had been reborn from the ashes of that past.

_Which makes what has to happen next so very difficult. _

He really was lovely, though, _damn near irresistible, _and as she looked past him to the Big Ben clock ticking quietly away on the bedside table, she smiled again, thinking wicked thoughts as she slowly slid herself down his body, hand reaching for him to cup him, caress the beautifully responsive length of him. _Tenacity and stamina, indeed, Marshall,_ she thought remembering his comment of the night before._ Have to send a thank-you card to the Marshal Service, maybe flowers. _She smirked as she thought of it, what totally inappropriate thing she might write on the card. _We have a little time yet, and I think the score is still somewhat uneven in the make-you-make-noise department. _

His eyes fluttered as he woke up, closed again as he arched his hips up hard toward the wet heat of her mouth which was slowly engulfing him, dragging him from the world of dreaming of her to drown him in a world of the reality of caresses from her lips, her tongue. She watched him writhe and twist against the sheets. _Gorgeous when you come undone, Marshall. Wish I had time to do it again and again just to watch you.... _His hands tangled in her golden hair, and she settled into her task with a single-minded and creative determination that soon yielded very loud, inarticulate, and slightly vulgar results. _Mmm...that ought to just about even that score_, she thought, unable to keep the slightly arrogant, triumphant smile off her face as his hands dragged her up his body. Seconds later, it was gone....

---

Marshall was in the shower leaning both hands and his forehead against the cool white square ceramic tiles. The large rainmaker showerhead poured hot water over him, and he stood enjoying the contrast between the two temperatures for a moment longer. His body had felt pleasantly used and a little unpleasantly dirty after everything that had happened in the past twelve hours, a rain drenching, a battle with a psycho, and several mind-altering rounds with Mary. It felt good to be clean.

He'd gallantly allowed her the first shower, and she'd laughed, pointing out the fact that there were three upstairs bathrooms, one of which connected to the rooms she and Brandi shared. She'd shooed him away to the one where his clothes were drying, told him where to find soap, towels, a razor and a toothbrush, and he'd gone, listening at the door for the sound of her leaving the bedroom. The moment he'd heard her door close, he'd darted down the hall, grabbed his cell, badge, and Glock, and dashed back to the privacy of the bathroom again.

Part of him had been amused at the image he must have provided. _Naked U.S. Marshal. Stop right there. You're under arrest. You idiot.... _He hadn't stopped or turned to put the badge and gun down, though....

With his back to the door, he'd hit the same number on speed dial as last night, and counted the rings impatiently....

"This is Patterson."

"Patterson, it's Mann. Is the team in place?"

"Kept her tied up the **whole** night, Mann? Damn, did the service proud then." Patterson's drawl was rife with innuendo, and Marshall had the urge to reach through the phone and kill him with his bare hands. There was not time for this, first of all, and then..._he's not wrong. You're in a shit-pot load of trouble if he finds out this is more than a brothers-in-arms joke..._

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...Are you in place? Every exit covered?"

"Per your request, Inspector Mann, all three entrances to the Shannon home are covered, and the perimeter has been secured with additional local reinforcements in plain-clothing. She ain't getting out, Mann, this time, nor, if you watch what you're doing in there, should you wind up tied down to anything." _Shit. Wonder who from the home office called that in down here...._

"Thanks. Has John Patrick Shannon or any of his men been spotted in town?"

"Not yet. We're watching. J.P. Shannon is still in Las Vegas as of 5:45 local time."

"Okay. Just look sharp. I have a feeling she's about to make a run for it."

"Will do."

Marshall had put the phone on the bathroom counter and looked at himself in the mirror a moment before getting into the shower. Now under the spray, he wished he could disconnect his brain as easily as he'd disconnected the call. _She's not going to do what you want her to do, not going to agree to any deals. You know it. You're going to wind up having to cuff her and drag her out of here, and she'll hate you for it the rest of her life. _

The law man inside him bridled at this. _But that's what you swore to do, that's who you are. She made choices that made this necessary; you're not the one who broke the law here._

The newborn lover, desperate to shield, to protect this precious new thing, snarled back, _Fuck that. Work some angle. There has to be a way. If I could just find some way to convince her...._

He sighed, lifted the soap and washcloth at last, frustrated that he could see no way out of this situation that would allow him to keep them both, the badge he loved, that defined him, and the woman who was coming to fascinate him in ways he had never thought possible.

_---_

Mary took her time about her shower. She washed her hair and braided it down wet. She padded to her room, opened her closet, took out comfortable old jeans and a black t-shirt with a white cat-shaped skull and crossbones on it that said, "I may look cute, but I still bite" on it and slid it on. A thick pair of socks followed, and the old pair of hiking boots she'd been running around town in. She was at her dresser sliding in the last of the two pairs of pierced studs she wore in each ear when Marshall knocked lightly on the frame.

She met his eyes and smiled at him, both of them a little uncertain with each other now that the clothing was back on. _Damn. This is the part I hate about not kicking them out... _

He crossed the room and took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, kissed it, held it, thumb running lightly over the knuckles. Her smile became more certain with the old-fashioned gesture._ Now isn't he just sweet and unexpected. I so want to keep him..._

He looked over at the floor where the broken glass still lay scattered haphazardly along with pieces of the frame. He squeezed her hand gently and let it go before walking over to inspect the trail of blood now clearly visible, if dry, leading from the middle of the room out onto the painted boards of the deep second floor porch.

She took a breath. "I'm going to go downstairs and start some breakfast. Do you want some?"

"You cook?"

She laughed. "Well, I can manage breakfast." No need to tell him that cooking was something she loved to do, even if she didn't do it often. No need for him to know about her secret kitchen cravings or the way she made herself a nuisance every time she visited the Phoenix Dream's vast kitchens, making the various head chefs there either love her or cry to John Patrick to make her go away....

"Just a bowl of cereal will do for me, if you have any. There's no need to go to any kind of trouble," he said politely. His stomach growled loudly, and she put her hand on his now-clean shaven cheek.

"Liar."

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Well..."

She stepped in closer, invading his space, enjoying the soapy clean smell of him. She kissed him gently. "After all your recent....exertions...I imagine you're ravenous..."

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back just as gently, just as sweetly, making a soft humming noise with it. "Getting hungrier every minute, now that you mention it."

She pushed away from him. "Okay. Think we need to stop that, or we will both starve to death..."

"Yeah, but what a way to go," he said, wiggling his brows at her with a comical leer.

Her bright laughter trailed back up the stairs as she headed for the kitchen.

---

Marshall stayed upstairs looking at the blood trail and for any other evidence that Raph might have left in the struggle the previous night. From the amount of blood in the room, he guessed that he'd probably managed to hit Raph somewhere in the body, but not somewhere serious, probably in a shoulder or a leg. There just wasn't enough blood to let him hope for a mortal wound...._dammit._

He had a second purpose, however, for remaining upstairs. He was letting her have her chance to run. _Maybe I won't have to be the one to put the cuffs on her. Maybe she'll make it out to the perimeter and it can be Patterson's fault... _He knew it was cowardly, but he could still feel the pressure of her lips tingling against his own, still taste that not-honey-not-cinnamon-sweetness that was uniquely her, and the thought of having to go downstairs, to sit and eat with her, and then to destroy this thing that was growing between them was a growing pain to him. He could swear the silver cuffs in their scuffed black leather case on his belt were actually getting heavier with every passing second....

Finally, there was nothing else he could possibly do, and her voice and the enticing smell of bacon and coffee called him downstairs. He tried not to feel like a man going to his own execution. _The condemned gets one last meal. Ironic, that..._

He hadn't been expecting much by way of cooking, but she'd made some french toast to go with the bacon he'd smelled from upstairs, and it was delicious. She'd rightly guessed that he was starving, and she'd made three times as much as she would have normally. She teased him as they ate, fascinated by how much he ate. He'd snarked right back about her having a great future as a short order cook somewhere. The meal passed, and still Marshall could not bring himself to shatter the mood. When it was done, he helped her carry the dishes to the sink and put them in the dishwasher.

_It's going to have to be now. There's no reason left to delay it. Damn._ He took a deep breath....

"Marshall, I'll be back in just a minute, okay? I need to...run upstairs."

_Saved by the bell._ He nodded and walked over to the coffee pot to pour himself another cup, careful to appear relaxed, casual. _Will this be the moment she runs? Can she get out of the upstairs? Down the trellis like Raph?_ He sat back down, crossed his long legs, smiled at her, gestured with the full cup, "Be right here waiting."

She smiled at him, something complicated moving through her golden brown eyes. "Promise?" she said. Her tone was wistful, and it made him think of the way she'd held her hand out to him when she'd been sitting on the floor after Raph had attacked her.

_I have no right to say what I'm about to say, but I can't seem to stop myself and she's just going to hate me even more for it in just a few minutes if everything goes to plan but it's not a lie and I should just shut up but I have to say it anyway, so... _"Promise."

She turned and he heard the sound of her boots going up the stairs. A few minutes later, he could hear water running upstairs briefly, and then there were no more sounds. He put down the Fire King mug, ran his thumb over the bright red and yellow flower on the side idly, and then he pushed away from the table and headed for the stairs. He eased up them softly, looked in each of the bedrooms and was both unsurprised and somehow disappointed to find them empty. From the door of the room they'd slept in he could see one window open to the deep wrap around porch. She'd flown, then. He put his phone to his ear and called it in.

---

Mary's instinctive need for freedom had been screaming at her to flee while her heart had been clinging by its tenacious teeth and nails to the old doorframes and floorboards of the antebellum house. She'd stayed far too long, and she knew it, much longer than was wise. At every moment since she'd awakened him this morning, she'd been expecting an army to invade the house and carry her out in chains, something dramatic like from a Cecil B. DeMille epic. _Maybe I could be Cleopatra Wait, did he do Cleopatra? I'd want more clothes on, anyway...._

She had gone upstairs, brushed her teeth carefully _because nothing is worse that being on the run with a nasty mouth _and then opened the window in the room in which they'd had their wonderful, unexpected night. She'd placed the two items she'd wanted him to have on the bed, knowing he'd find them later, and then returned to her own room where she'd been very careful to leave the closet door open earlier when she'd been getting ready...

_It was just that leaving him got harder and harder with every kiss, with every joke, with every single minute I was with him. Damn. Maybe that's a new tactic the Marshals are trying for apprehension. I'll have to ask him next time I see him. Wait. What? The next time I see him? _She shook her head at her foolhardiness, then smiled and shrugged. _Hell yeah, the next time I see him. Not giving up all this fun... _

She was now using the flashlight she'd grabbed from last night's bedroom to make her way down the hidden staircase in the back of her closet. _Poor Marshall. Wonder how long it's going to take him to figure this one out. _So many houses of this age had secret passages, some of them for the purpose of allowing servants to pass unnoticed from their parts of the house to the living quarters of those they worked for, some for more nefarious purposes. _And this definitely qualifies as the latter,_ thought Mary as she finally reached the basement, reached into her pocket for a large skeleton key she'd taken from a nail just beside the secret door.

Once in the basement, she darted across the room to the far wall, slid behind a pile of old screen doors leaning against it, and put the key into a small door that was hidden from sight there. She turned it in the lock, but nothing happened. _Damn. _She turned it again, and from overhead, she heard the sound of several pairs of heavy boots on the first floor. _Come on. I know we haven't exactly been keeping up with the WD-40 down here, but..._ She jiggled the lock, praying the metallic clicking noises weren't as loud as she thought they were.

---

"What do you mean she isn't on the grounds and she hasn't appeared through the perimeter? She has to be here somewhere." Marshall tore his hand through his hair. _She cannot be gone again. This cannot be happening AGAIN._

"Have you searched the house? Maybe she decided to hide inside. You know some of these old houses have all kinds of nooks and crannies designed to hide slaves for the Underground Railroad, bootleg moonshine, and you would not believe whatall." Patterson was studying the architecture of the living room. "Yeah, this one would be old enough, and God knows what kinds of modifications Shannon himself might have done custom."

"Help me look. Take this floor. I'll go back upstairs. Call in some of the people from the perimeter."

---

Marshall found the note and the folded Santa pants about five minutes later. Again she'd drawn his Marshal's badge, this time though, with a heart around it. Inside, he read:

I am too sad to be cute or flip this time, and you deserve better anyway. I owe you, Marshall. You saved my life last night. I won't forget that, and some time in the future, I'm going to find a way to repay that. I just can't let the price of it be my freedom.

Take the Santa pants with you when you go. Since I won't be there to make sure you're taken care of, maybe they can do it for me. If nothing else, maybe the memories attached to them will keep you...hot. All I have to do is think of your hands on my wings and I know I'll be warm all winter long....

Until the next time (and there will be one),

Mary

He folded the note over, stuffed it in his pants pocket, and went on with his search, trying with very little success to block out the images she'd conjured in his mind.

---

Mary finally managed to jiggle the door open just as she was getting ready to find a hammer and smash it in frustration and rage. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed the massive weight of it up, slipped in, and carefully let it down again behind her. She was in a stone-walled passage that smelled of damp earth. The ceiling was somewhere above her head, invisible in the light of the flashlight beam, and tree roots protruded through the dirt floor at intervals. She placed her right hand against the wall as a stabilizer and she began to move as quickly as she could without falling on the rough floor. _Almost home-free. Bye-bye boys...._

---

Marshall was the one who found the passage in the back of her closet. His careful observation found the unusual-looking knot in the wood, and when he pressed it, it bore out his suspicions and the door in the back swung silently open on well-oiled hinges.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured, pausing only a second before charging into the darkness with the flashlight Patterson pushed into his hand. The tight spiral of stairs wound down past another door that would give access to some room on the first floor, and he gestured that Patterson take that branching. He continued down the spiral, the air filling with the smells of a basement as he quickly moved.

He came to the door only to find it not completely closed. He opened it in motion, drawing his weapon and holding it with the flashlight, scanning for her. She had to be down here somewhere. There was no exit from the basement. _Was there?_

There had been one passage. What if there were another? He began to search the basement quickly. Despite the amount of material stored here, there were very few places a person could hide. He suspected that was deliberate on Shannon's part. _Nowhere for anyone to ambush him. Smart man, survivor..._

Marshall looked with suspicion at the tall stack of screen doors against the far wall. It alone would provide shelter for someone wanting to hide. He approached it as quietly as possible, boots making a slight scraping noise on the hard-packed floor of the cellar. He swung around the doors and shone the light under them, growling at what was revealed. He slung the lightweight screen doors back to get a better look at the ancient wooden door set into the wall. _Damn. She had this planned but good. I feel like a kid playing hide and seek, only she knows all the good hiding places. _Once again, he felt that grudging admiration for her.

He tugged at the handle and was astonished to find that the door moved slightly. He pulled with real force, flinging it open, and peering down into the tunnel it revealed. _Okay, Mary. I counted to one hundred. Ready or not, here I come._

_---_

Mary was only about halfway down the tunnel when she felt the rush of moist air being pulled past her indicating that someone had opened the door in the basement.

_Oh hell, Marshall, why do you have to be so fucking clever all the time? Right now, it is not endearing at all. _

She'd lost time she desperately needed because she'd had to stop to push some debris out of her way where the tunnel had partially collapsed. _J.P. needs to get a crew in here to keep this damn thing better maintained. I don't care how often it's needed; one should never let a perfectly good escape route just go to ruin on them...._

She could hear the faint noise behind her of fast-moving steps headed in her direction. _Hound's on the __trail. Time to book it._

She started to move forward as quickly as she could, almost overrunning the beam of her flashlight. That's why hooked the toe of her boot on a root, stumbled, and fell, unable to muffle the curse that escaped her as she crashed to the ground, tearing her palms on the rough surface of the passage floor and dropping her flashlight in the process.

"Fuck!"

She heard the steps behind her still, assessing, and from far, far too close behind her, she heard his voice say, "Mary?"

_Yes, officer. It's me. _She scrambled up, grabbing the flashlight as she went and sprinted, praying that the floor stayed even.

"Mary! Stop!" She heard his steps quicken, lengthen, then heard him curse, heard a crash. She laughed. _Got you, too, didn't it? Fucking goddamn tree root. At least it was equal opportunity.... _She did not slow her pace. She could smell the wetness of the river, see the dim glow of light ahead of her.

_So sorry, Marshall, but your wounds will heal. Gotta go now...._

_---_

Marshall could see her, was about a fifty yards behind her. She made the last turn in the tunnel and suddenly she was silhouetted by light. _She's going to come out somewhere by the river. Damn it, we don't have anybody there, didn't think of it as an escape route. What's she going to do, swim for it?_

Mary burst into the sun, stride not slowing for one minute. He was out of the tunnel moments later to see her racing down a short wooden pier that jutted out into the river. Sitting next to it was a huge, sleek, powerful boat with three large men waiting. Mary dove onto the boat and it was pulling away from the pier before Marshall was even able to get himself set in position to take a shot.

He watched, heart pounding as he tried to regain his breath, as the craft turned in the middle of the river and came by close enough for him to see but not close enough for him to get an accurate shot at. Mary was standing up, leaning against the side nearest him, panting as hard as he was. She waved at him, smiling, yelling something.

The words trailed across the water a moment later... "Until the next time." Then the huge engines powered up, and she was gone, only white foam on the water marking where she'd been.

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**Hmm... Wonder what Mary would have written on that thank you card to the Marshal Service. I almost put that in. It made me giggle. Does Hallmark even make one for that? :) **

**Of course, you know you can always drop me a line using the lovely green button below. (Please do.)  
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	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Such wonderful reviewers. You all make writing this story worth it for me. I love knowing that you enjoy reading it. Thank you so much.

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The commonest mistake in history is underestimating your opponent; it happens at the poker table all the time. ~David Shoup

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Marshall was mad as hell, and chasing under that anger was an edge of frustration and fear. He pushed his chair away from his desk and fought the urge to do something useless, juvenile, and deeply satisfying like throw an object or kick the wall. Everywhere he looked there were roadblocks to this investigation, to finding Mary. He looked back at the two manila folders open on his desk, one basic tan, one a dark symbolic bloody red. _And I've got to find her...._

After she'd escaped, all of the usual procedures had been put into play, the area had been shut down, the local transportation hubs, such as they were, had been watched carefully, and the house itself had been searched from top-to-bottom. A representative of J.P. Shannon had arrived about an hour after they had and had watched the whole proceeding with hawk-like eyes, commenting several times on the lack of delicacy with which his client's property was being treated. Marshall had felt his blood pressure rising and had told Patterson to deal with the man. Patterson had taken one look at him and led the neat little suit away, congenial arm around his shoulder, saying, "Son, did you know this old place has secret passages? Lemme show you..."

Of course, Marshall had known she wouldn't show up at the tiny Jackson, MS airport or at any of other regional hubs. He'd known she wouldn't be traveling by bus or by train. The boat she'd been on had been fully capable of getting her over to the Louisiana side of the river, and he suspected there'd been another fast car there waiting to whisk her away to...who knew where?

They'd been searching J.P. Shannon's properties for two weeks without the slightest glimmer of a trace of her. McNeil had no more information to offer, had in fact gone strangely silent about all things to do with the Shannons, more the rabbit in the rabbit hole than he ever had been. Marshall had only the promise left at the bottom of Mary's note that he would see her again, and that was beginning to wear thin. _If you wanted that, Mary, you could have at least left me a trail of breadcrumbs...._

Then yesterday, he'd been working in the office and he'd seen something on the TV that had frozen him right down to the bottom of his very soul. In Biloxi, the police had found a young woman murdered in a casino hotel room. She'd been tied to the bed and mutilated. When they showed the photo of her, a snapshot taken standing in a sunny yard some time when it was unthinkable that she would become the lead story on regional news, she looked so much like Mary that for a moment Marshall's heart just stopped. _No. No. It can't be her. _Then he'd noticed the differences in the shape of the mouth, the jawline, subtle but there. _Not her then. _His heart was still racing when his hand fell to the phone and he dialed the numbers for the Mississippi office.

Today, he had just finished looking at the crime scene report, and his worst suspicions were confirmed. The young woman had been murdered in John Patrick Shannon's hotel. She'd been bound face-down in the middle of one of his luxurious beds after being assaulted sexually and battered. Then the unknown assailant had taken a blade and carved crude wings into her back. A note had been found on scene that the Biloxi police hadn't been able to make any sense of. The handwriting was frighteningly elegant:

M –

It wasn't like with you. I tried to make it that way, but querida, a copy is never as good as an original. I liked what you'd done with the wings. You always were like an angel. I gave her some, too. Pretty aren't they?

You know I am going to have to know who he is, don't you? Why he stayed all night? And if he touched you, well...maybe I'll have to give him some pretty wings, too.

See you soon, mi vida,

R

---

John Patrick was sitting in the same seat in the blues club where Mary had found him all those weeks ago when Marshall walked through the doors. J.P. was sipping gingerale out of a tall glass, listening to the band. His eyes caught Marshall's immediately as he came through the door of the casino club, but there was not even the slightest flicker of surprise or concern in them. He merely waited for Marshall to cross the room, gestured to the other end of the horseshoe booth with an elegant and courteous hand, and waited for Marshall to fold his long frame into the seat.

"What will you have, Marshal Mann?"

Marshall looked at him, briefly, warily, then said, "If that's gingerale you've got, I'll have the same."

J.P. lifted his hand idly, and a minute later, another gingerale was brought to the booth. "I sort of order the same thing all the time, you see. Saves the waitstaff the hassle of having to come see what I might need if I just have a gesture."

Marshall took the glass and sipped a moment.

J.P. looked at him, golden brown eyes measuring as always. "Have a good trip out?"

"Oh yes. Very pleasant. Good flight. No turbulence. Are we really going to do this, sir?"

J.P. smiled, real humor warming those secretive eyes, reminding Marshall of Mary painfully for just a moment. "That would very much depend on you, Marshal. I'd prefer it if you'd get down to business, but your type always likes to dance around the issue at hand so much, play so many interesting and useless little games, so I thought I'd just oblige...."

"I'm not much of a dancer, Mr. Shannon."

"Ah. Well, then..." J.P. folded his hands on the table and tilted his head, again, something Marshall had seen Mary do. It was almost uncanny, the resemblance....

Marshall reached into the briefcase he was carrying and took out two items. He pushed them across the table toward J.P. J.P. picked one up, his amused smile still in place as his eyes scanned it, but it faded as if it were being erased, something absolutely deadly replacing it. His cold eyes dropped to the other piece of paper, looking at the image of the woman there, the woman with bloody wings carved into her back.

Marshall leaned across the table. "She's the second one in two weeks, Mr. Shannon. She was found in your hotel in Biloxi, and NCIC popped a similar crime in a resort in Florida right before he came up, except he just carved her, no note, no wings. I have to know where she is. I have to know right now. You have to tell me because he's going to keep coming."

---

From this high vantage point, Marshall could see the entire strip. On another night, he might have been tempted to walk over to the windows and look at the amazing view, pick out landmarks. Tonight, he barely spared it a glance as he entered, settled himself in the deep leather chair Shannon gestured to. To Marshall's surprise, Shannon did not go to the chair behind the nearby desk but rather came to take the club chair next to his. Marshall had been aware of two other men trailing them upstairs, knew one was outside the office, one was in the outer room. He and Shannon were now sitting facing each other. Shannon gazed at him steadily, easy in his own territory.

Marshall waited, returned the look. He wasn't a U.S. Marshal for nothing.

Finally, as though some signal had been given, there was a knock on the inner office door. A man in a very expensive suit that did not quite hide the bulge of his holstered weapon slid in, handed Shannon a large envelope, leaned down to whisper something in his ear, and slid discretely back out again. He never looked at Marshall.

Shannon looked up from the envelope in his hands and said, "Before I make any decisions about putting resources together to help you try to find my niece," _Oh well said. Nobody can say you know anything about where she is from that... _"I'd like to know a few things."

_Of course you would. _

"Such as..."

"Such as what law enforcement knows about Raphael Ramirez. About what they're doing to locate the sick son of a bitch who tied her up, told her he loved her, and cut her open."

"Right now, there is a wide-spread search going on for him, but nobody seems to know very much about him. I gave the locals a description, worked with a sketch artist, but he's not in the system anywhere. He has no jacket; when we ran his name through NCIC, nothing popped at all."

Shannon ran his thumbs over the heavy tan paper of the envelope. "That doesn't surprise me at all. I would have been more shocked if you'd been able to find anything, really. His people have always been very good at cleaning up their messes...."

"Mr. Shannon, please. I want to help Mary. I need you to tell me what you know, and I need you tell me where to find her."

"Why?"

"Why what? There's a psychopath after her cutting up women who look like her and leaving her love notes! Isn't that enough?"

"No, I mean why are you so interested in helping her. Why does she matter to you so personally?" Shannon was watching him with those piercing, perceptive eyes. "Because I can see that she does. I could see that she'd gotten to you the morning I had to cut you loose from that headboard, Mr. Hunter."

Marshall grimaced just a little, hand tightening on the arm of the soft chocolate leather chair. _Am I really that transparent? Shit..._

"I'm trying to keep her alive, Mr. Shannon. She's..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

Shannon looked at him another moment, nodded. "Yes. She is. Very much so. But I'll tell you this for nothing, son. You'd better figure out how you want to finish that sentence before you see her again. Or she's going to eat you alive and spit out the bones."

He pulled a small table toward them and opened the envelope, sliding the contents out on the table. He handed one of the items, a file folder full of documents, to Marshall, who immediately began to look through them.

Shannon began to speak....

"When she met him, we were all just so happy that she had somebody in her life who seemed to adore her that we didn't see the danger at first. I knew he came from a dangerous background, but I've never been a man to hold that against someone..."

---

Mary had met Raphael Ramirez through some of their mutual contacts. They'd both been in Vegas at the time, Mary there to visit J.P. and rest between jobs, Raph there at the behest of his family's organization. He had been in and out of the U.S. for several years now taking care of various things for them both in the States and in the D.R. His family had a variety of interests, just enough of them legal to keep him from being arrested on sight, enough that he could travel frequently. They'd gone dancing with a group of her thrill-crazy car-thief friends, and everybody had noticed how smitten he had been with her.

He'd treated her like a queen, and she'd been quite swept off her feet. She'd had boyfriends before Raph, one or two fairly serious, but her lifestyle had always caused problems. Raph didn't seem to care what she did, even told her he found the idea of breaking in and stealing the expensive automobiles in their high-security storage a turn-on.

In fact, it seemed that everything she did turned him on. He had pushed her to have outrageous, complicated sex, taking her past even her wide comfort zone when he'd screwed her in broad daylight on top of an eighty-thousand dollar car in the back of a dealership lot one afternoon, tearing down her pants, pinning her down and taking her hard and fast before any of the sales staff had seen them...she thought.... He'd proceeded to buy the car, and she'd always felt slightly strange, mortified every time she'd been in it.

She told herself that she was just being paranoid when she had these strange feelings, though. After all, was he not unfailingly attentive? Romantic? Didn't all her friends envy her for having a boyfriend like Raph who always remembered birthdays, anniversaries, sent little notes and flowers for no reasons at all? And if he got jealous when he saw her talking to another guy, well, that was just machismo, right?

But Mary's instincts, the ones that she lived by, the ones that told her when the guy setting up the deal was an undercover cop, that the shadow wasn't a shadow but a second partner with a gun waiting to double-cross her in the deal, these sacred instincts were twanging loud and clear by the time she'd been dating him almost a year and came home from a month-long job in New York. Instead of calling him as they'd agreed, she'd simply driven to his house, used her key to open the door, and found him on his back in the middle of the living room floor with another blonde bouncing on his balls. He'd turned his head and seen her, called her name even, but she'd just left the door open, down the stairs, fast car flying before he could even throw the girl off him.

She'd gone straight to J.P. and told him everything. When Raph had appeared at the Phoenix Dream less than thirty minutes later, he'd been politely told by armed men at the door that his presence at the casino that evening would be in poor taste and that Mr. Shannon would be grateful if he would leave.

Raph had made a courtly little bow and turned to go. That night, Mary cried her eyes out.

The next, she disappeared when she went to the garage to get in her car.

For two days, J.P.'s men and the local PD searched for her. They tore apart the city using the legal and illegal means open to them, but there was no trace of her anywhere. Raph's apartment was frighteningly sterile, no physical trace of him ever being there, and Shannon fought the need to mourn that was building in his heart. _He's killed her. There is no other explanation for this kind of cleanup._

Then the call came in. Mary had been found almost dead, butchered, in a motel room on the edge of town. Her screams had alerted the people in the next room who had called the police. She was in surgery, and nobody knew whether she would live. Shannon had made two phone calls on his way to the hospital, calling in two favors, sending professional death winging after Raphael Ramirez no matter what retaliation it started from his family. Then he'd put Raphael out of his mind and focused instead every shred of his energy on Mary, unable to look at her without seeing a shattered child hooked to all the machines keeping her tortured body alive.

---

He did not tell Marshall all of this. He left some details out. He did not tell Marshall about the two hitmen he'd sent after Ramirez, for example. He knew that Marshall would be more comfortable without some of the little bits of the story, would feel less compelled to do something about those fragments he chose to let fall through the cracks of memory. By the look of him, the young law man was having enough trouble dealing with what J.P. had kept whole, anyway.

He sat for a moment, head down, thinking, rifling through the photos of Ramirez, the passport copy, the other vital papers, absorbing, processing. "So what is he, then?"

Shannon looked at him. "He's a monster. A created one. We found out later his family, especially his beloved Mamita had been grooming him all along to be one. One we all thought was dead. I had it on the very highest of authorities that he was no longer a threat, Marshal. That Mary would never have to fear the darkness any more, looking for him inside it any more."

"Let me assure you that the Ramirez I saw two weeks ago in Mississippi was very much alive. The one who cut that woman up in Biloxi was no ghost."

Again, the two men lapsed into silence.

"His note indicates that he will keep coming back for her. You must agree or you wouldn't be here now. You believe she's in danger?"

"Yes."

"And you believe that you can keep her safer than say, hypothetically, someone like me?"

No hesitation. "Yes."

J.P. smiled, got up and poured some water from a carafe into a crystal glass, offered some with a silent gesture to Marshall who refused the same way. "I'm curious. Just how is it that you think you could protect her that I'm not capable of doing? What resources do you have access to that I don't?"

Marshall smiled a matching smile, that calculating poker-player's smile. He'd been waiting all evening to lay down this hand, raising the stakes, careful not to push too high too fast, well aware of the skill of the player sitting across the table from him.

"Well, I have superior training in reading people, in finding people who don't want to be found." Shannon snorted and waived his hand for Marshall to continue.... "I have a background in understanding the criminal mind, in what makes them do the things they do that might help me predict what Ramirez might do next. I have the legal right to walk armed in almost any place in this entire nation. I have the cooperation and backing of national, state, and local law enforcement agencies." Shannon's eyes narrowed, and then he shrugged as if this were better but still somehow unimpressive. "Most importantly, though, I have this....." Marshall drew the piece of folded paper he had in his pocket and flipped it to land in the middle of the small table. Shannon lifted it, opened it, read it, and looked up in surprise at Marshall.

"Is it legitimate?"

"You see the signatures. You can verify it if you like. If she agrees, yes, it is as real as it gets."

Shannon looked up at Marshall, and his mouth quirked up at the corners.

"And you'd do it?

Marshall didn't even have to think. "Yes."

Shannon laughed a little.

"Well, by damn, Marshal. I need to make a call or two. I can't promise you anything, you understand."

"Of course." He hadn't really expected any promises when he'd come.

Shannon turned to the desk, and Marshall rose to give him the privacy he knew Shannon would want. As he neared the door, Shannon's voice made him pause.

"Mr. Hunter, I don't suppose you ever play poker, do you?"

Marshall looked back over his shoulder and gave Shannon a small smile of his own. "Rarely sir. Only when the stakes are irresistible."

Shannon sighed. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Pity, that. Natural talent going to waste...." And then he turned back to his call.

---

She was whimpering, and he hated that noise. Mary never whimpered, and it was ruining the fantasy for him. He hit the woman again hard, and her whimpers stopped as she subsided into unconsciousness again. Good. Now he could rebuild the illusion....

"Mary, there are so many things we have to say to one another, but first, I think I am going to just get rid of these clothes. You won't need clothes for what I have in mind tonight, mi corazon."

The blond on the bed did not feel the whisper of the knife blade as it slit the short black dress off her body, did not hear the lunatic ravings and endearments spoken so rationally, so lovingly near her ear, was spared the feeling of his hands stroking gently on her lower back, touching her body intimately, but nothing could keep the agony of what was to come later from her, and her screams around the gag he forced into her mouth only served to push him to new heights of savagery.

When she was found in the suite of yet another one of J.P. Shannon's hotel properties, this one in Texas, the note beside her bloody body said:

M –

Tonight was good, so sweet, almost as good as that last night in Vegas. You were incredible, corazon, beyond compare. When I gave you your wings tonight, I took my time to make sure they were beautiful. Don't you think I'm getting better at it? They do say practice makes perfect, and by the time we are together again, I will be ready for you.

Siempre your

R

* * *

**Don't fret, folks. Mary will return in the very next chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

** Thanks to everyone who likes Psycho Raph. I think he makes perfect sense, actually, and have some theories about the real IPS, too... But on with this little sideshow. Here are Mary and Marshall. They're both back in this one. Anyone...hungry? :)

* * *

**

We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfillment. ~Hilaire Belloc

* * *

Mary sighed. She was bored. It had been two weeks, and she was already itching to be back in the chase of things, out of safety and into danger. _Back where I can yank the chain of a certain member of the Marshal Service, if I'm perfectly honest with myself._

She grinned, rolling over onto her stomach, putting the paperback down on the black sand of the beach. She hadn't really read the last five pages, anyway. _Not nearly as interesting as the stories I can make up in my own head... Now this place would be perfect if only I had a friend to keep me company._

A scene reminiscent of From Here to Eternity played across her mind but with far fewer clothes as she studied the breaking waves of the private beach, and she contemplated the mental picture of Marshal naked in the surf with a cat-satisfied smile on her face.

_Maybe if I sent him a postcard he'd...drop in? Whoo...I think it's getting hot out here. Maybe that's just me. Time for a little swim._ She headed for the blue-green water and dove in, strong strokes taking her out past the breakers.

---

It was past midnight when Marshall's phone rang. He hadn't been asleep, and he answered on the second ring.

Shannon, in his usual succinct manner had simply said, "I checked on it. It's all good. You're clear as far as I'm concerned. As for her, I can make no promises. A private jet is waiting on you at the Vegas airport to take you to San Jose. My man on the ground there will set you up with a vehicle to get you to the beach house up in Guanacaste. I wouldn't sneak up on her, if I were you, Mann. She doesn't take surprises well."

It took just a moment for it to register. "She's in Costa Rica?"

"You didn't think I'd hide her in the back yard, did you?"

"What makes you think she's going to be willing to come back with me at all since she's going to be completely outside my jurisdiction?"

Shannon had laughed that dry, short laugh of his. "I guess you're going to have to be extra convincing," and then he'd hung up leaving Marshall staring down at the phone.

---

Mary's boredom took her out of the house early the next morning. She bid Elena and her husband, the tico couple who maintained the house, farewell just after dawn and hit the road for San Jose. She just needed to get...out. Despite the incredible loveliness of the Pacific hideaway, she needed people, noise, life around her. She had friends in San Jose, and maybe seeing them, being in the city for awhile would tame this gnawing lonely she felt. _Otherwise, fuck it all, I am really going to have to buy and send that postcard after all. _

The trip took forever, but it was worth it. When she got closer to the city, she called up a couple of her friends to arrange for a late lunch, and plans confirmed, used the remaining time to make some purchases for the house that she couldn't do in the small stores near where it was located. She picked up a couple of new books, found a few local items to take home with her, and visited a couple of spots she'd remembered and enjoyed from previous trips. When it came time to meet her friends, they had a long and relaxed meal, catching up with each other after a long absence. They begged her to stay the night in San Jose to go out with them that night to some of the clubs, but Mary knew she wasn't quite up for that, and she begged off.

She packed up her purchases, pointed her car back toward the distant beach house, and headed out. She knew it would be very late indeed when she got back home. Mary felt better, lighter, after seeing her friends, but she still felt somehow off her game, the nagging feeling that something was missing. While she was waiting for the ferry that would take her vehicle across the Gulf of Nicoya, she bought a soda and drank it slowly, watching the sun start to paint vivid colors in the sky.

_That shade of blue right there, that one, it reminds me of... _

_Well, go ahead and say it, goddamn it. _

_It reminds me of Marshall's eyes._

_Oh shit. I think I might be in trouble here. When was the last time I sat around staring up at the sky like a moron picking out eye colors from a sunset? And just how many times has he crossed your mind today? How many times in the Mercado did you see something and wonder if he'd like it, if he'd look good in it? You're acting like a teenager with her first crush, and it will get you locked up, you know. _

_But when he kisses me, I don't care about any of that. It didn't seem to matter...._

_Seem being the operative word there, you know. Did he or did he not chase you down a dirt tunnel with the intention of throwing your ass in jail? This is all I want to know. Did he or did he not do this?_

_Well...._

_Um-hmm... Exactly what I though._

Mary took the empty glass bottle over and slid it into the palette designed to receive them, then boarded the now-waiting ferry, a disgruntled expression on her face. Things shouldn't have to be so damn complicated. One lover wanted to cut her into small pieces; the other wanted to lock her up. Wasn't there any such thing as good, old-fashioned romance any more?

---

Marshall had never been so glad to see a driveway in his entire life. He'd been driving for hours. The GPS had turned out to be playing an enormous, complex, and private joke on him ever since he left the San Jose airport, sending him toward a place called Arenal kilometers in the wrong direction.

He'd finally broken down and called the number left him by Shannon, trying not to be too irritated by the man's laughter when he'd told him where he was. A few brief instructions and many hours of driving later had brought him to the right place. Dusk was falling as he turned down the long narrow dirt drive, grateful for the four-wheel drive vehicle. The road was not intended to be inviting to the general passer-by.

The man, Miguel, was one of the people who kept the house up for Shannon. He'd told Marshall that Mary had left to go to San Jose for the day and that they were unsure of when she might return. Marshall was praying he would arrive before she did so he could get himself safely situated. He had a feeling the element of surprise was going to be crucial in his first meeting with her here....

Bumping the final distance down the drive, he turned a bend to reveal an open space and the house itself. It was not as ostentatious as some he'd passed. Instead, it followed the design of tico architecture, clean simple lines, metal roof. It was large and spacious, and as he drove around the back, he could see a large entertainment area with a patio and pool before the land became beach. It was a lovely place, taking full advantage of the black sands of the region.

Marshall pulled the four-wheel drive into the waiting bay of the garage, and unfolded himself carefully from the vehicle. He had an ache in his lower back and shoulders that he wasn't sure would ever go away. He stretched, trying to loosen the knots as he saw a couple coming toward him. _This must be Miguel and Elena. _They greeted him and helped him get his bag inside.

"We were just getting ready to leave when you pulled up. We don't stay the whole night unless Mr. Shannon or Mary has need of us, and it's about the time when we go home."

"Don't let me stop you. Go right ahead. I will just fine right here," Marshall said, indicating the guest room they'd shown him to. He needed to plan his strategy for ambushing Mary, anyway.

"I made dinner for Mary and left it in the kitchen if you're hungry. I can fix you a plate, if you like, before we go."

"That's okay. I will poke around in there myself a little later on. There's no need for you two to stay."

Elena and Miguel made their farewells and left. Marshall unpacked a few items, went to the kitchen and scrounged. He found a wonderfully savory-smelling dish made with black beans and rice and pork and a large bowl of freshly cut fruit, pineapple and watermelon, to which he helped himself. After he ate, he stretched out on the couch in the living room with a book he pulled down from the shelves there. The fatigue of the long day and the stress of worrying about what he was going to say to Mary when she came back combined with the good food worked against his intentions, and soon Marshall was sound asleep on the sofa, book dangling from one long-fingered hand.

---

By the time she got back to the beach house, Mary was beyond tired. She saw by the lack of lights in the house that Miguel and Elena had already gone home, and too weary to even fool with pulling the car into the garage, she simply pulled up next to the pool terrace and killed the engine.

She drug herself up the small brick stairs and was headed in the house when a thought occurred to her brought on by the sticky nastiness she felt from the day's long hot travel and the shimmering underwater lights of the blue-green pool. _What I need is a quick dip to wake me up again so I can feel good enough to eat something and fall down...._

She turned, feet shuffling, and headed for the tiny, closet-like changing houses at the end of the patio, and then she smiled a sardonic smile. _And why am I putting on a suit? Who the hell is even here to see me? It's easier to go commando...._

The thought of skinny dipping in the pool put a little bounce in her step, and she walked toward the outdoor radio controls. _Well, if I'm going to do this thing, I might as well do it properly, I guess. Maestro, a little music.... _She flipped through the cds until she found the Verve Remixed album, sliding it in, and turning up the volume. As the lush jazz beats poured out of the hidden speakers, she felt her energy starting to return.

She strutted back toward the poolside lounge chairs, pulling her t-shirt over her head as she went. She whipped it over her head a couple of times, laughing, and circled her hips in a little stripper's strut before tossing it over the back of the chair. Taking a couple of steps to the beat, she toed off her shoes and kicked them randomly toward the house. She watched with alarm as one of them clipped a terracotta pot and shattered it. She smiled guiltily, and shrugged. _Oh well, Elena's gone for the night. Maybe I can clean it up before she finds out..._

Resuming her little dance, she reached for the zipper of her jeans, bringing it down in one clean motion. She had to wiggle a little to get them down her hips, and then they tangled around her ankles, causing her to bend over to pull them off one leg at a time. Finally, though, she bounced up triumphantly, holding them in front of her before flinging them in the chair as well.

She paced over to the edge of the pool singing along with the lyrics of the song, "Kiss me twice, and then once more. That makes thrice, let's make it four!" She vamped the words just a little off key along with Carmen McRae. Looking down into the inviting water, she reached up to push her hair out of her face, bit her bottom lip. _Moment of truth. Do I leave on the underwear, go in as a good little modest Catholic-school girl, make all those nuns proud? _A smile of pure wickedness spread over her face as she reached around behind her to unfasten the clasps of the bra, to let it flutter to the chair behind her. _Sister Mary Francis always hated my guts anyway...._

---

Marshall woke to the sound of a sophisticated dance beat drifting in from outside.

_What the hell?_

He rolled off the couch into an instinctive crouch, reaching for his Glock, moving toward the cover of the heavy lightblocking drapes that framed the sliding glass door. He peered around them trying to discover what might have caused such an incongruous sound to appear in this quiet sanctuary. What he saw dried the saliva in his mouth and caused every neuron in his brain to fuse together simultaneously.

_Oh. My. God. Mary...what are you doing?_

Well, she was dancing, wasn't she? His hands on the curtains shook as he watched her. He watched in disbelief as she whipped off the shirt, watched the sinuous motion of her hips as she cast it aside. He laughed a little when her shoe demolished the flowerpot, but his humor evaporated like rain on hot pavement when she bent over, luscious derriere to the house, to deal with her snagged jeans. He ran a hand over his face.

_Has it only been two weeks? I want her like it's been two years, ten...._

_A gentleman would make his presence known, Marshall. _

_Yeah, right. Remember what Shannon said about not sneaking up on her? I think this probably qualifies... Besides. Look...at...that. Holy. Shit. She...**bounces**. And she's wearing white. I think white is my very favorite color._

_White is not a color you blood-starved moron._

_You're starting up with me about THIS, NOW? Are you BLIND?_

Mary threw back her head, enjoying herself in her play, and when she sang along with the lyrics of the old song, Marshall's hands tightened down on the drapes.

_I'll so so much more than kiss you four times, Mary. I will bend that beautiful body over every piece of furniture on that patio and...and..._

When she stepped to the side of the pool, bit that full bottom lip, gave that wicked grin, and brought her hands up to remove the simple white bra and leave her beautiful breasts bare except for the reflected shimmer of the pool's light, his higher brain functions simply shut down. He was dimly aware of his hands opening the sliding glass door, of the pressure of the brick stairs on his feet as he skimmed down them toward her, but his focus was on the pagan goddess at the bottom. He hungered, he yearned, and it was time to feast, to worship at the altar of his desire before him.

_---_

Mary had just hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties when she heard the sliding glass door open. She looked up in startled alarm, instinctively covering her chest. _Oh hell, Elena is never going to let me live this one down. But they are supposed to be long gone by this time of night. I wonder what...._

She never finished the thought. Her eyes caught sight of Marshall coming down the brick stairs from the house, moving with the speed and grace of a hunting cat and they opened wide in shocked surprise.

_He can't be real, can't really be here. I have to be imagining him...._

He reached her side in moments, stood looking down at her, breathing hard, and she looked up at him. His eyes were much more black than blue, and what she saw in them sent a rush of wet heat straight to her core. "Marshall," she managed to murmur, and then his mouth was on hers, his hands pulling her hard against his body.

There was no tenderness in his kiss, no gentle exploration. One hand came up to grip the back of her head, turning her to meet his mouth, and she moaned as his tongue plundered, sliding deep, savagely, against hers. She ran her hands up his chest and clung to his neck, trying to regain some balance from his sudden reappearance, his fiery onslaught.

His free hand ran from her shoulder down her back to her hip, her ass, cupping and lifting her until she raised one leg to wrap around his waist. He growled in approval, holding her and rocking hard against her. Only the thin white material separated her from the denim covering his straining erection, and the feeling of his motion was erotic, almost as evocative as if he'd entered her. She broke the kiss, head falling back, gasping for air. _The feel of him....God...forgot how good..._

His mouth moved down her neck in hot, open kisses, searching for her pulse points, using lips and tongue and teeth to drive her insane. His hand slid down from her hair to cup her breast, thumb briefly flickering over the peak before he engulfed it with his mouth, suckling deeply, greedily.

She arched for him, pressing hard against the bulge of his cock, tugging ungently at his hair. _Ohgodohgod don't stop, Marshall, don't stop...._ She may have even been saying it out loud because his response became even more unrestrained as he moved to her other breast. His hips were gently, slowly, rocking under hers, causing a delicious but frustrating friction.

"Marshall, _fuck_...please....," she groaned, wriggling her hips against him.

He pulled his mouth away, murmured in her ear, "Interesting choice of words, Mary. Let's see if I can't comply with that request..."

She felt the hand that was cupping her ass spread, felt the fingers slide lower, tease the edge of the now-soaked white fabric that covered her, slip under it. He took her mouth again, swallowing her cry when he slid one long finger inside her from behind. She was pinned between the feel of him pressing against her and the sensation of his hand probing within. He continued to rock his hips against her, finger inside her moving in counterpoint rhythm.

She looked up into his eyes to see him watching her every expression with such pure desire, pure hunger on his face that it was the final stimulation that sent her over the edge. Her hands grasped for purchase on his shoulders, leg tightening around his waist, and she cried out his name.

---

He watched the orgasm take her, felt the strong muscles of her leg constrict around his waist, felt her squeeze his finger, heard her cry out his name, and still he hungered.

He let go of her hip and her leg slid down him. She leaned into him, still dazed from where he'd flung her skyward, her mouth seeking his. He took her mouth in a hard, deep, kiss, the need that was in him driving him. She responded to the demand of the kiss, running her hands up to work the buttons of his shirt.

"Too many clothes. You always have..." Her voice trailed off as she began to kiss the newly exposed skin hungrily.

"See what I can do to help..." He pulled his shirt off, groaning when her mouth found the aroused nub of his nipple, when her tongue circled it, teeth nipping.

His hands tangled in her long blond hair as she worked her way down his chest with fast, hot kisses. Her quick fingers ripped down the barrier of the zipper on his jeans, at long last freeing him, pulling the jeans and boxers down his legs so he could step out of them. _And the stallion is out of the gates, boys, Yee-hah! _She lowered her head toward him, hands finally able to wrap around him, stroking, squeezing, caressing, maddening him.

He pulled her back up before she could taste him. She looked into his eyes, confused. "Marshall, I want to..."

A shudder ran through him, and he pulled her to him, mouth frantic on hers, cutting off the flow of her words. "Don't even say it. I'll explode if I hear you say it. I'm almost gone now just from thinking it." He closed his eyes, forehead resting on hers, hand wrapped tight around her wrist where she still held him in her hand. He was trembling as he tried to regain some balance, some restraint.

She couldn't resist. She stroked the pad of her thumb over the drop of moisture that glistened on the broad tip, smoothed it over him. His eyes opened, blue, hot, and dangerous and he made a soft hissing sound, hips arching involuntarily.

"Keep playing with fire, Mary. I'm warning you that I'm very nearly out of control. There's no telling what I'll do if you keep on...."

_Oh, don't lay down a challenge like that, Marshall, and expect me not to pick it up. Besides, I think I'd like to see what you look like out of control. I think I want to strip you down all the way to the balls and bones and watch you get down to it. _

She put her mouth next to his ear, pushed the tip of her tongue into his ear, despite the bruising grip he had on her wrist, worked her fingertips down his length to squeeze and twist at the end, and said to him, "I have a confession to make, Marshall. You don't scare me at all. I am not a girl who scares easy. There's nothing you can dish that I can't take." She smiled tauntingly at him, fingers still dancing on him.

He smiled, briefly, before he pulled her hand from him, kissed the palm, spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest. One hand cupped her breast, tweaking the nipple hard and the other slid into her panties, unerringly finding her swollen clitoris. "Really. Good, because I do have one or two things in mind, then...." And he took two steps forward with her, hand coming up in a caress to the middle of her back to push her forward so that she was resting with her forearms on the surface of the table, her legs spread wide. He grasped the side of her underwear and with a quick twist of his wrist, he tore it down the seams, pulling it off her.

She gasped, looking back at him.

"Perfect," he said in tones of awe, running his hands reverently down her back, across the wing tattoo. "God, Mary, you're so beautiful." He pulled her back up against him, and she turned her head into the kiss, hand caressing his face. She could feel the steel-rod length of him rubbing against her from behind urgently. He bent over with her, placed one hand beside hers on the tabletop, murmured in her ear, "And now, Mary who is not afraid, I'm going to take what I want, what I watched dance around the pool, what I've woken up hard and hurting for for two fucking weeks. Are you ready?"

She gave the only response she was able to give, arching back against him, her hands flexing on the table, head turned sideways, eyes meeting his. His hands slipped to her hips, and then he was inside her in one hard, fast thrust. They cried out together at the feeling of at last being connected, whole again. For a moment, he held himself arched against her, driven in as fully as he could, and she likewise pushed back against him, then he withdrew and the motion became frantic as their delayed need exploded. He stood, watching the undulating motion of her hips as she took him, the hypnotic fluttering of her wings as she ground back against him, little mewls of pleasure escaping her.

The pace was so frantic that it could not last long. He'd been balanced on a razor's edge since he'd seen her in the white underwear. He leaned down over her again, reaching down between her legs to find the slick bundle of nerves and stroke it hard and fast, the same way he was pounding in and out of her. She was writhing beneath him, pinioned between the two pleasures of his hand and his cock. He watched her lush body sheen with sweat, twist, moan, wished he could find a way to live in this moment forever. And then she was coming and oh my god she was clamping down on him, drawing him even deeper, looking at him behind her with those unfocused eyes and calling his name, hands clawing at the table, and he could feel it even against that finger that was still stroking her and...and....

His world exploded and he collapsed on top of her, sliding his hand down to twine his fingers together with hers.

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**Okey-dokey, so they're back together....of course, they still haven't ****_said_ anything yet.... You can blame/thank sfchemist's lovely "Mann Down" chapter for the key lime in this one. I think we're causing a chain-smut-reaction in each other's stories here. Hmm.... is this a good thing or a bad thing? ;)**

**Adding to the list of things I don't own, by the way, the nation of Costa Rica, the Verve Remixed cd, and of course, Mary and Marshall (dammit).  
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**Hit the button, please. Make me happy.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Pesky, pesky real-life. Thanks for the fantabulous reviews, everyone. I appreciate the love.

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Courage is tiny pieces of fear all glued together. ~Irisa Hail

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It was well past midnight in Las Vegas, but the nightlife barely noticed. On the dance floors of the various clubs, it continued to swirl in a gaudy display, flesh, gems, and expensive clothing flashing in the dim light.

It was a perfect hunting ground, really.

She was lushly curved with shoulder length-blond hair, and he'd been steadily buying her anything and everything she'd asked for all evening, piling on the fussy, frilly, feminine beverages she'd been sipping. He wished that she'd order something stronger, something more like HER, but the physical resemblance was striking, so he could overlook the minor details.

She was twittering away about something inconsequential, and her high-pitched, coquettish laughter annoyed him. It shattered the illusion. SHE would never lean forward that way in such a low-cut nothing of a dress to entice, would never giggle vapidly like that while twirling one lock of her hair around that over-bejeweled finger.

He pulled her up and out on the dance floor to make her stop. The dim light soothed him, and he turned her away from him, pressed his hips against hers, was pleased by the easy way she moved against him. When he leaned down to nuzzle her neck, to nip lightly at the sensitive places there behind the curtain of honey blond, he was ready.

"I've got a surprise for you upstairs, querida. Don't you want to come and see what it is?" His every tone, every gesture, every touch promised ecstasy beyond her wildest imagination. His hands stroked paths of fire up and down her bare arms.

In the morning, the hotel cleaning staff would find her naked, bound, and very, very dead on the blood-stained blue bedspread of one of the bridal suites upstairs, a pair of wings hideously carved with horrible precision into her back, a carefully folded note left beside her on the still-pristine pillow.

---

Marshall's breathing slowed down and reality started to seep back in. The enormity of what he'd just done, the intensity of what they'd just done registered.

_Well, that wasn't exactly a peck on the cheek and a how've you been. Where the hell do you go from that? One day I'm chasing her in a basement with my gun drawn; the next I'm fucking her from behind over a picnic table. We've got to reach a happy medium with this._

She made a happy, satisfied, groaning noise under him, shifting her hips slightly, and as he felt the reciprocal effects to his own anatomy, he reconsidered.

_Okay, so maybe fucking over picnic tables isn't the worst thing in the world, but this isn't really the reason I got on the plane this morning...._

He could practically hear the other little voice in his head laughing at him. _Oh really? Never crossed your mind, huh? Just call it a nice little...bonus...then. _

He pulled himself off her and stumbled over to one of the lounge chairs, dragging her unresisting body with him. She fell across him in a graceful facedown sprawl, her head more or less on his shoulder. They looked at each other and smiled goofily, a little drunkenly at their mutual condition.

He ran a gentle hand down her cheek, pushing sweat-dampened hair away from its curve. "Hi," he said, grinning, he knew, like a fool.

She turned her face into his hand and pressed a kiss there, returning that crazy grin, heart dancing with happiness at the unexpected ending to her night. "Hi. And, wow. Yeah. Hi."

He laughed out loud. "Wow? I get a wow? I think I might be honored."

She kissed his chest, just over the heart. "You definitely damn well should be. And maybe just a little scared. Because now that I know what happens when I push all those buttons of yours, Marshall, you can look for it to happen a lot more often." _'Cause I mean by DAMN, that was some show, folks.... WHOO._

He groaned and let his head fall back against the padded cushion of the chair, snickering. "You'll kill us both, Mary."

She rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his slowing pulse. "Yeah, but like you told me once not too long ago, what a way to go...."

---

They might have stayed like that all night, softly stroking, gently discovering the ways they fit against one another, had one of the unexpected showers of the early days of the rainy season not drifted in. The first few cold spatters of rain on their bare skin were incentive enough to provoke even their weary bodies to make a mad, cackling dash up the brick stairs, past the shattered flowerpot, bending for the bits and pieces of their clothing as they went.

Marshall slid the glass door closed, and they stood panting, looking out at the pool and the beach as the scene was slowly obscured by a grey haze of rain.

"What is it about us that brings on the bad damn weather? Just once, I'd like for us to have sunny skies, no thunder, unlimited visibility," Mary griped, wiping water from her face.

"Oh, I don't know," Marshall said, admiring the slick shimmer of wetness on the curves of her before pulling her rain-soaked body up against his, dropping the bundle of his jeans and shirt in the process. "There's an awful lot to be said for just staying in, having one of those...quiet nights...at home...."

Mary, much later, had to admit he had a good point. Several of them, actually. Was really, very, obscenely...persuasive.....

---

The next morning, Marshall's phone rang. They were both still sleeping in her big bed. She had taken all the covers and was sleeping in that glorious, bed-hogging side twist of complete abandon. He woke to find himself cold and running out of space. He reached for his phone at the same time he unceremoniously grabbed at the comforter and tugged. She held tightly to the components of her nest and made a low growling noise of disapproval in her sleep, refusing to give up the warm covering.

He sighed and gave up, grabbing the cell and heading into the hall. What he heard on the other end quickly erased what remnants of sleep still clung to him. The report coming in from his office was dispassionate, thorough, and horrifying. He gave a few brief comments of assent, hung up the phone, and stood in the hallway staring into space, seeing nothing for a moment, lost in thoughts of a life ended, and of the conversation he knew was to come. Then he turned and slipped back into the bed, and Mary roused herself to curl around him, throwing the comforter over him, arms surrounding him.

"It's bad, isn't it. Whatever it is."

He kissed her hair gently, hand stroking down her back, tucking her against him more fully. "Yes. But let's steal a few more hours of sweetness right now. We're going to need it."

---

Mary sat at the big kitchen table. The top was polished, lovely, and well-cared for. Her hands were wrapped around a large pottery mug of coffee, and she sipped from it, savoring the rich flavor of the beverage inside. She was waiting on Marshall to return from the office where he'd disappeared to shortly after getting up a few hours earlier. Her tension was rising with each minute he was gone.

_I mean, okay, clearly he didn't come down here just for some slap and tickle, even though that was all kinds of fun. And since the cavalry hasn't stormed the gates yet, I'm assuming he's not here to drag me out by the hair, either. So what the hell was that call this morning about that made him look like somebody he loved had died when he came back in the room? _

Logically, she knew she was in a place of safety. She knew that he had no rights or authority over her here in Costa Rica; this was, after all, the reason John Patrick had insisted she come down for awhile. So why was she gnawing at her cuticle in worry?

_Because I know he didn't come down here for a social call. Not for a vacation. Not because he just had to see my face one more time. I'm biting this thumb bloody because whatever drove him down here was so bad that J.P. told him where I am, and J.P. has a very highly developed sense of what is and is not really scary shit. I'm biting this thumb because I know Marshall himself doesn't scare easy, and this morning, I saw something in his eyes, just a second, just a flash, that made every hair on the back of my neck stand up, made me wish I had my knife in my hands. Whatever this is, it's going to be so bad..._

Marshall came back in the room, a sheaf of papers from the computer printer and two folders, one manila, one a dark red in his hands. He sat down at the table across from her and laid the items on the polished surface. For a moment, he looked down at the table top, and she could see that he was mentally preparing himself for what he was going to say.

_Oh please, Marshall, just go ahead and tell me. Whatever it is, you are only making it worse with this waiting. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what my imagination is creating right now...._

She was wrong.

---

He told her all of it in clinically precise terms. It wasn't in either of their natures to sugarcoat. He didn't withhold any of the details; he showed her the photos; he let her read the notes. By the time she was looking at the photo of the blonde on the blue bedspread, she felt nauseous, felt dizzy, felt the scars low on her back throbbing.

Marshall slid the last of the notes to her. He had held it back on purpose, and there had been a very large part of him that had not wanted her to see it at all. Now that he was telling her, though, he knew that this ugliness, too, had to be revealed, no matter what it was costing her.

She unfolded the heavy cream paper, absently noticed the hotel's insignia at the top, instantly recognized the careful, elegant handwriting. Below her wings, her body ached. She read the words of a madman addressed to her:

M –

Tonight you flew, mi angel. It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, when you unfolded your wings and rose. To know that I did that, to know that I gave you the power to fly, that you soar because of me, it undid me. I can hardly wait until the next time, to set you free again.

See you soon,

R

A rage built up inside her. She looked up at Marshall. He was watching her, eyes concerned. She waved the note at him, unable to control her anger.

"That motherfucking son of a bitch."

Marshall stayed calm, did not move to comfort or confront. "I'd say that's a fairly accurate assessment of him, yes."

"You see what he's doing here, don't you?"

"What is it he's doing, Mary?"

"He's trying to take credit for my wings, trying to take the symbol of my survival and turn them into something I'll be sick over every single time I see. He's trying to wrap a leash around my neck again and choke me to death with it. Me and every poor creature he happens to get his hands on as a surrogate in the process. He never helped me fly anywhere. Not one fucking place, Marshall, unless it was right into the jaws of hell. And I will be damned straight back _there_ before I will sit _here_ and let him take from me what I had to claw my way to inch by inch because of him!"

She was trembling, knew it, hated it, hated Raph because of it, hated herself for her inability to stop. Her heart raced. There was no target to strike, nothing to hit, nothing to destroy in her rage. She'd been here before, hadn't she, hunted, helpless.... She looked at the photos of the four dead women, her four dead sisters, on the table, their bodies battered and broken. She knew their pain all too well....

"Damn it. Damn him!" She dropped her forehead to the table, blocked out the sight of the dead women and their bound hands, the hideous bloody parody of her own sigil of survival, those unfortunate substitutes killed in effigy.

Marshall did not come around the table, did not try to soothe or stroke her. He knew that she didn't want to be held or cuddled, knew that she was wrapping her anger around her like a protective coat of armor to shield herself from the evil on display in front of her. She was entitled. He could offer her something more, if she was willing to take it.

Unable not to offer any support whatsoever, though, he allowed himself to slide his hand across the table and gently cover hers, needing to make the small contact with her. Her fingers wrapped around his, convulsively laced with his, gripped tightly. He could feel the small tremors running through her start to fade.

A moment later, she raised her head, met his eyes. "Okay. So tell me."

Marshall narrowed his eyes at her. "Tell you what, exactly?"

"Whatever the grand plan is."

_Damn, she's good._ "And what exactly would make you think there is some master plan at work here?"

"Because you are the sneakiest, planning-est son of a bitch I know, and mostly you can take that as a compliment. Because you're here with me in a place where you can't slap cuffs on me instead of waiting for me at some airport terminal somewhere. Because you're showing me this...bestiality...and you know I'm not going to just let it go. Because you and I both know he will just keep killing women whose only crime is that they are romantics at heart and happen to remind that bastard of me in some superficial way. So quit fucking around and get to it, Marshal Marshall. Every minute we're sitting here, he's resting up for another night of ..._fun._" Her mouth twisted on the word, made it sound like a gutter obscenity.

He took the folded piece of paper from the back of the manila folder, held it in his free hand for a moment, and looked at her. "How would you like to be free of a number of the problems that currently plague you?"

"I am really, really, SO very not in the mood for games this morning, Marshall. Cut to it, or get ready for the consequences."

His mouth quirked briefly, but there was little real humor in it. Either she would accept it or she would not. There were compelling reasons on both sides of the argument, and he'd given up trying to figure out the statistical probability not long after it had come into his possession. It was time to lay all the cards down. The betting was done. He extended his hand to her, watched with an outward calm he did not feel in any way inwardly as she released his hand, took the heavy official document off his palm, unfolded it, and began to read.

---

Mary had to read it twice. It was an offer from the U.S. District Attorney granting her full immunity from prosecution from previously committed crimes and an end to her fugitive status and the subsequent chase by the Marshal Service on the condition that she assist them in the apprehension of Raphael Ramirez.

She lowered the paper to find Marshall staring out the window at the rainy Costa Rican morning, sipping his coffee. She was not fooled by his apparent inattention. She saw tension in every single line of his body.

"So...bait the trap with a nice juicy piece of fresh meat and see what comes sniffing around? That's the master plan?" Her tone was calm, conversational. _They can't seriously expect me just to trot off into Raph's hands and wait for the heroes to come sweeping over the hill to the rescue... Jesus, how naïve do they think I am?_

Again, he flashed that humorless smile. "Sort of. Except you wouldn't be the only thing being dangled before his nose."

"What else did your genius thinktank come up with, then? Going to throw in a new blade for him to slice and dice me with? A secluded location with some nice strong ropes to sweeten the deal? Going to count to fifty before you boys start to chase him?" A sarcastic smile crept over her face.

"Nope." He took another slow sip of the coffee, looked over at her with sky blue eyes. "There'd also be me."

Mary sat back. _What the fuck?_

"He saw me at the Mississippi house, Mary. He knows I was there all night. He's jealous as hell. He threatened me in the first note found in Biloxi. We're going to make him come after both of us, and we're going to get him."

---

The surprise on her face was almost comical, but none of this was a laughing situation. Had she really thought he'd throw her to the wolves? He couldn't blame her, he supposed. She'd been running for so long, surviving on her own with nobody but J.P. to look out for her.

The simple truth was that no matter what he was beginning to feel for her, they didn't know each other well yet. The things she knew about him were not enough to make her understand that he could no more have asked her to face Ramirez alone than he could have asked her to have put a gun to her own head and pull the trigger. He couldn't stand the idea of her facing down a demon, figurative and literal, of this magnitude without someone there to watch her back, hold her hand, and kiss her in victory when they emerged from the darkness ahead in triumph.

He watched her contemplating the offer, watched a mask settle over her face as she became aware of his scrutiny. _So much Shannon's._ She traced abstract patterns on the tabletop, thinking. He wished he could see the paths her mind was walking, wished there were words to turn her toward his own, but he knew better than to speak while she was deciding.

Finally, she met his eyes again. "Tell me more."

He took it as an encouraging sign. "We'd go back to Vegas, be very visible, very much the young couple in love. He's looking for you, so Vegas will be a natural place to draw him in. Shannon has already agreed to use the Phoenix Dream if you agree, so we'd be on your 'home turf' more or less. Sooner or later, Ramirez will make his move, and we'll have him."

"What if he makes his move, and you don't have him? What about that possibility?" She was keeping her tone light, but he heard the thread of real concern under it.

Marshall leaned across the table and took her hand in his. "Mary, I swear to you that I won't let anything happen to you. I won't be the only one protecting you. I'm not so arrogant that I would ever try to do it all alone, but I am giving you my personal promise that I will be right beside you every minute of this until we have Ramirez."

Mary looked down at their joined hands for a moment. She seemed to be deciding something. Still looking down, she spoke.

"And at the end of it.... I get to walk away, right? No strings, no cuffs, no...no...tricks or loopholes. I'm free to go?"

Marshall ignored the little twinge he felt in his heart at her words. "Absolutely free and clear of all the charges currently held against you. Free as the proverbial bird, Mary Shannon." He forced a little smile.

She looked up at him, and she felt something like hope fluttering in her heart for the first time since he'd laid that first photo on the table hours earlier. She took a deep, deep breath and released it slowly. "Then I accept. Sign me up. Get me a star or a quill dipped in blood or whatever it is that you do. Let's go gut that son of a bitch."

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**This chapter worked a little differently than the others. Let me know what you think. The button is your friend....**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Lookit! A double post from me today. Hope you enjoy...

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With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Marshall made some calls, and Mary paced aimlessly around the living area, picking up odds and ends J.P. had gathered here in Costa Rica and other places in his various travels. Some of them she recognized, some of them were mysteries.

_Mysteries like what I'm getting myself into now. Why am I doing this, risking this again? Whenever it comes to Raph, I should just escape, run like hell and hope he never finds the trail._

She looked over at the tall, slender man leaning against the frame of the big picture window looking out on the rolling waves still white-capped from the morning's rain. He was on the phone, one hand plowing through his already disordered hair. Marshall's back was to her, and she saw his face only in profile as he allowed his eyes to follow the flight of a gull across his field of vision.

_Why is it that I trust him? What is it about him that makes me believe he can do what he says, can really, finally end Raph? _

At that moment, Marshall seemed to become aware of her studying him, and he turned from the window to gaze at her, still talking into the phone, bright blue eyes locking with hers, and his mouth turned up at the corners in a little momentary half-smile, holding the contact just a moment before turning back to his ocean view.

_That. That right there. Whatever that is in his eyes, whatever that is that I see in moments like that one. I feel it right down to my bones, and it feels exactly right in a way I haven't ever felt before. I may be a fool, and it may mean the house wins everything I have, but I'm putting my money on that. God. Please don't let me be wrong...._

_---_

All the arrangements were made for their return the following morning. They'd spend one more night here in Costa Rica and J.P.'s jet would come down for them early the following day. Mary couldn't help but be relieved by having one more day here in this place _away_. She didn't know exactly what things would be like when they got back to Las Vegas, but she knew that the instant they returned, they'd be waiting on Raph to strike, and she couldn't get the image of a bait animal out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.

_I'm not helpless, no tame rabbit in a cage. He's going to feel it this time if he comes for me. I swear it... I need to do something else. If I keep sitting here and thinking about this, I'm going to go crazy... Tomorrow will have enough problems all of its own without me sitting here and spoiling today as well by worrying it to death._

She shook herself out of her reverie, got up from the couch where she'd been sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, and went to find Marshall. She found him in the office sitting at the computer going through email. She slid her hands onto his shoulders, and he absently reached up to take one of hers, still focused on whatever it was that he was reading.

"Come on," she said, tugging on his hand.

He tore his attention from the screen and looked at her. "What? Come with you where?"

"Outside. You're in a lush paradise, and for the time being anyway, you're my guest. I'm not going to let you sit on that very fine ass in front of a computer any more. Get up, get some trunks on, and come out to the beach. Whatever you've got going on there will keep."

His lips curved gently, and he tried to disentangle his hand, mind still full of preparations for their return to the States and everything that would be involved in keeping her safe once they touched down in Vegas. "Mary, I really didn't pack my vacation clothes. I don't have any trunks."

She smiled wickedly, leaned down, and whispered next to his ear, "Then come out without them. We'll match." And she let his hand go, turned and strutted down the hall to her room.

It took a moment for the gears in his brain to start meshing again, but when they did finally start to fit together once again, he made three swift clicks of the mouse to clear the computer screen, and leaped down the hall toward her room to find her waiting with laughter.

---

"Tease."

She laughed and pushed him back facedown on the towel. "Shut up, Mann. You'll fry like a crispy critter if you don't let me get this sunblock on you, and I for one don't want to listen to you whine like a little child later."

Marshall looked back over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed as he studied the conservative cut of the berry-colored two piece swimsuit she was wearing. "First you promise me gratuitous nudity and fail to deliver and now you impugn my masculinity by saying I whine? Some date you are."

She snorted and said, "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet, Marshall." She squirted a glob of the sunblock in between his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable reaction, delighted when he suddenly jumped and said....

"Jesus! That's cold!"

"Yup. Been in the house, in the air conditioning, hasn't it?" Her tone was downright cheerful as she squeezed the bottle a second time, running a thin, icy line of the liquid down the middle of his back.

He looked at her again. "Going to get you for this, Mary. Oh yes. Going to get you."

"Shut up and lie down so I can rub this in. We've already established that I'm not afraid of you if you remember..."

_I remember. Oh God, do I remember. _Marshall shifted uncomfortably on the large fluffy beach towel as all the portions of his body lent themselves to the memory. He felt her hands touch his shoulders, begin to spread the sunblock in small, firm, circles. _Aaannd this? This would definitely not be helping...._

He closed his eyes and finally just let himself enjoy the feeling of her hands on his body. She smoothed the lotion in, working it down his back, stopping to add some more to her hands and then her fingers were running down his arms, kneading the strong muscles there, sliding up to slick the sunblock over the sensitive nape of his neck. _Is it just me, or have her hands slowed down? It's almost as though she's just touching me just to be touching me. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.... _He stretched just a little, like a cat being stroked, as her her hands worked their way back down his spine to dip just under the waistband of the borrowed navy blue trunks he wore.

She finally paused, and he heard her sigh. He opened his eyes and looked at her, a mixture of relaxation and arousal running in his system like a summer wine. She smiled down at him with a grin that made his heart flip over, bit her bottom lip, and she held out the bottle of sunblock. "Now Marshall, you get to...do me."

A slow answering smile crept across his face. He sat up and took the container from her, leaning in to kiss her softly, gently, delicately as he did. "You really are the worst tease I've ever seen, Mary Shannon. That's going to get you in serious trouble one of these days." He shook the container, continuing to hold her eyes with his. "Now lay down here like a good girl and let me get you."

Mary didn't even pretend not to hear the predatory undertone. She felt a frisson of pure electricity shimmer down her spine as he straddled her hips. She looked back over her shoulder at him, could not help but be reminded of the last time he'd been behind her. He looked at her with an expression of studied blandness that didn't quite dampen the sparks in his eyes, arched a brow at her, and said, "What? It's easier to reach this way."

_Umm-hmm.... but what is it you're reaching for, Marshall?_ She turned her head, willing to play the game, and in a moment, she felt the sunblock, warmed somewhat from being outside, squirt out onto her shoulders. Those strong hands began to work the thick liquid into her skin, all business except that...somehow, they weren't.... They lingered just a little too long. Those beautiful long-fingered hands trailed across her in something like a caress as they circled but frustratingly not enough of one to allow her to be certain and react. She felt herself becoming aroused by his touches, and he hadn't even gone lower than the top of her suit yet.

His fingers found the clasp of her suit's top, and he flicked it open with one easy gesture. _Now we'll get down to it. Thank God._ Mary prepared herself for acceleration, for him to begin touching her in earnest, and she felt her body respond to the images her mind provided, to the feel of his weight astride her. Her hips shifted a little against the blanket.

He merely put more sunblock on her back and continued working it down her back. He leaned up and pushed her arms out from her side so he could run his business-like-yet-not hands along the edges of her back, fingertips just trailing along the sensitive sides of her breasts and ribcage, almost as if by accident. She shivered.

"Cold?" His tone was all solicitude. "I'll be done in just a moment, and we'll see about getting you warmer."

_Bastard. That cements it. He knows. He knows exactly what he'd doing. Tease indeed. He's going to pay for this...._

"Marshall...."

The thought was driven out of her head as he added more lotion to his hands and began to work them over her lower back. His thumbs were tracing the wing pattern gently as the rest of his hands stroked the lotion in.

"Yes?" His hands slipped beneath the berry-colored bottoms to cup her firm ass, knead it gently, still that same gentle, not-quite seduction.

"What...Marshall..." The last was said on a groaning sigh as his mouth came down to kiss her nape, soft, tiny, feather-light presses of his lips. He slid his hands back up her body, fingertips skimming, barely touching her sides, the delicate contact somehow unbearably arousing.

He moved his weight from her, stretching out next to her, pulled at her shoulder gently, and she rolled over toward him, hungry for more of him, for the fire she knew was simmering just below this controlled surface. He caught the hungry hands reaching for him, pressed a kiss into both palms, and pressed them above her head staring down into her eyes.

"You wanted me to... do you?" It took her a minute to realize that he was waiting for a response, and she managed to put together enough working brain cells to nod, searching his face for what might be coming next, quite certain that whatever it was, she was completely in favor of it. He leaned down, hands still holding hers down, nuzzled her neck to find the spot that made her gasp and shudder. "Then let me finish." He released her hands, and she lay on the sand just as he'd left her as those feathery touches ran down over her shoulders to hook the center of the swimsuit top and draw it off her.

He looked at her for just a moment, flashed eyes full of such heat at her that she moaned and arched for him, and he drew maddening circles around her nipple with the long fingers of his hand. He looked at her like an artist considering the effects of a dab of paint on a new canvas and flicked his thumb over the tightened nub. _I will kill him if he doesn't stop this...if he stops this, I'll die...what is he doing to me.... _He lowered his head and touched the tip of his tongue to the aching peak, moistening it, lapping lightly. She growled, writhing in frustration, but she did not lower her hands.

"Marshall, please...."

"Please what, Mary? Please this?" His tongue flickered out to circle her nipple, then laved it roughly. She cried out. "Or maybe you meant, please this." He opened his mouth and sucked her deeply, one hand sliding beneath her to curve her upward toward him. "But maybe none of this was what you were asking for at all...."

He released her and then he was moving down her body, the bottoms of her swimsuit miraculously gone, and she was looking at him as he knelt between her thighs, those hot electric arc blue eyes making every muscle in her body clench and weaken in equal measure. His hands slid under her to cup her, lift her. "Maybe," he said, turning his head, kissing her thigh open mouthed, letting her feel his teeth as he lightly, lightly nipped her there, "Maybe you meant, please this...." And he lowered his head to trail his tongue over her where she was already wet and swollen for him, a long, slow lick.

"_Fuck_, Marshall...." She descended into incoherency. Her hands above her head clenched into tight fists, but still she did not lower them.

He smiled wickedly against her. She could feel it, and it just made her somehow hotter. "Now remember what language like that got you last time..." Using just the tip of his tongue, he traced the cleft of her, circled the erect nub of her clitoris before stroking over it causing her hips to rock against him helplessly.

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder to free one of his hands and he brought his fingertip up to tease the slick opening of her. He sucked the tiny bundle of nerves between his lips and slid a finger deeply into her, listening to her cry out, each obscenity and invocation of a higher power spurring him to his task. "Oh God, Marshall, fucking hell...you....yes! Just like...just like....Don't stop!"

He slid another finger inside her and began to work her with his tongue as well, lapping roughly, firmly. Her body was a bow beneath his mouth, hips dancing against him, and it was exquisite, Mary completely abandoned to her pleasure. Her hands clutched the wet sand above her head, and the flush of her impending orgasm began to spread down her face and neck.

He watched it crash down on her, felt her shudders over take her, heard her call out his name and felt for a moment like an invincible god. He lowered her hips, watched her watch him as he licked his lips to taste the honey-cinnamon essence of her once again.

He leaned down over her, feeling the brush of her breasts as her breath raced, and whispered in her ear, unable to resist it, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice, "See what happens to teases? I told you you'd wind up in...."

She clamped her hands down on his wrists, had him flipped over in a very neat move before he was aware of her intention, was ripping down the blue trunks and sliding down on top of him, arching her back to take him deep. His eyes almost rolled back in his head from the feeling of being inside her, from the heat and slickness moving with such purposefulness on him. She smiled down at him, her own triumph written all over her face, hips rolling with a seductive rhythm designed to destroy him. "In exactly the place I intended to be all along, Marshall. And don't you think for a second otherwise..." She let her head fall back, brought her hands up into the air above her head, a deliberate imitation of the pose he'd put her in, and all he could do was bring his hands up to hold on to her as she proceeded to take him for the ride of his life.

---

The next morning, they left the beach house to drive to a regional airport where John Patrick's jet had received special clearance to land. Mary hefted her bag onto her shoulder and looked around her tidy room again one last time, unable to stop herself from feeling regret at having to leave this little paradise. Here she hadn't felt hunted. _Well, not unless I wanted to be. _She smirked a little, remembering the night before. Her smile faded. Outside those doors was a four-wheel drive that would take her back to a place where somebody wanted to kill her.

_But you're not alone this time. You've got somebody to stand with you now. That's worth a lot. _

She looked down the hall to where Marshall waited in the living room. She wondered what he was thinking as they were on the verge of departure. Was he afraid? Did he wish they could stay tucked away in this secret place of their own for just a little while longer? Did he...Did he...

_Does he like me? Really, really like me? Shit, Shannon, is that what you were about to think? Why don't you pass him a note with a "Check Yes or No" box on it while you're at it. Jesus. I think he's answering that question by going back to face that psychotic waste of space with you. Pull it together girl. Don't turn into one of those on me, or I'm going to have to slap you around some...._

She gave a wry grin at her own inner squabbles, sighed, and headed out the door to whatever was waiting for her back in Las Vegas. Marshall met her at the door, grabbed her bag and carried it with his out to the vehicle. It felt natural, somehow, this traveling with him, oddly almost like a routine they'd had for years, and the feeling soothed her as they drove off into the early morning light.

---

In Vegas, she was screaming again. She had been screaming off and on for a long time now. She would fight, struggle, scream, and then her mind would take her away to a place where she was safe until the horrid reality he was creating would force its way back in again.

The room was cold, concrete floors and cinderblock walls, fluorescent bulbs illuminating the scene with implacable accuracy. She was tied facedown to a folding camp cot, the top of which had been covered with a thick luxurious red spread. Her assailant finished with a long grunt of satisfaction, and he ran a hand over her long blond hair before lifting himself off her. "Mary," he murmured. She didn't know who this Mary he kept talking about was, but part of her hoped he never found her. Part of her wished fervently, horribly, that she, Mary, were here instead of herself.

She heard the sound of items being moved around on a table, and she struggled to see what he was doing. She couldn't turn far enough, though, and the terror of not knowing was too much. She started to whimper, working her wrists frantically against the bindings even though she had already chafed them bloody in previous attempts.

His weight made the narrow little cot dip as he straddled her hips, and she cried out, cringing away from him. _Not again. Please not again. Anything but that. Please...._ He ran a gentle, appallingly loving hand down her back to her hipbones, began to talk to her about wings and flying, about the power of love and about the need for fidelity, and she began to feel his fingertips tracing a pattern on her back over and over. That was when she knew she was going to die like all those girls on the news had died, knew who had her.

Her hysterical screams filled the cinderblock room. She did not stop until the last drop of her blood pumped out of her broken body. Raph watched, fascinated, leaned down, kissed her gently, reverently, and said, "So now you're free to fly, my angel, mi Maria. Take your wings and go to heaven." He reached for a piece of the stationery he'd taken from the last hotel, wrote a quick note to capture the power of his emotions at this time of discovery, folded it with care, and placed it beside the shell that had until recently been a living creature.

Then he turned, opened the door to the basement store room in the office building and walked out, leaving lights on and door open, knowing that she'd be found soon enough by a night watchman or by the morning maintenance crews.

---

Their take-off was uneventful. Mary could feel herself getting more and more tense the closer she got to Vegas. She finally decided to try to get some sleep. She sat down in a seat next to the window, but she was up again a moment later. It was...uncomfortable somehow, and she was cold. Why did planes, all planes, even private ones, have to be so damn cold?

She prowled over to where Marshall was sitting, sat down on the soft seat next to him, and said, "Budge up."

He looked up from the paperback he was reading. "I beg your pardon?"

"I want to nap. I need a pillow. Make yourself useful."

He arched a brow at her, pointedly looked at the whole of the empty and posh cabin of the private jet, but he raised his arm so she could lean against his shoulder. She settled against him, enjoying the warmth of him, the strength of the body she had come to know so well underneath the button-down shirts and staid jacket. He curved his arm around her loosely, pulling her into his side absently, mind already back on his book. She smiled. Maybe there was something to this having him around all the time, after all. She was asleep in minutes, that small smile still playing around her lips.

After awhile, Marshall lowered his book and just gazed at her a moment. He took in the way her hands were lightly gripping the lapel of his jacket and the way she was turned into his body, craving the heat and the simple contact. He felt that little jab of something he wasn't quite ready to define again, and he reached out and ever-so-gently brushed back a strand of her hair that had trailed over her cheek. Then he picked up his book and deliberately submerged himself in the storyline again, conscious every second of the woman next to him.

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**For all of you who were craving key lime, this one was for you. For those of you craving plottishness, it's coming. R&R, dahlings....**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: One last update before the weekend...ends. Hope you enjoy.

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'Twas not my lips you kissed  
But my soul  
~Judy Garland

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About an hour before the flight was to land, Marshall gently nudged her and had the pleasure of watching her eyelids flutter, a sleepy frown spread across her lips as she turned to snuggle into him in protest. He couldn't resist reaching down and brushing his thumb over her mouth softly, tracing his hand over her cheekbones.

"Come on, Mare, time to wake up. We have to talk about how desperately in love we are before the plane lands."

Her eyes shot open, startled. "What?" She sat up and away from him on the seat.

"Thought that might catch your attention." His tone was full of amusement at the wariness her whole body projected.

She leaned back into him, a disgruntled look on her face. "You could have just shoved me off the seat or something less radical like that."

He laughed, wrapped his arm around her companionably. "I'll keep it in mind for next time."

She squinted up at him. "And did you call me 'Mare?'"

He thought about it a moment, rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess I did. I'm sorry. I kind of have a habit of giving nicknames and using shortened forms with people I'm comfortable with. Is it a problem?"

She sighed in mock tolerance and rolled her eyes. "I guess I've been called worse, and since you say it implies _intimacy_.... Although, are you really sure that's appropriate for us?" Her wicked little grin appeared, unable to be restrained. Her fingers slipped under his jacket lapel.

He felt his lips curving in response, caught the wayward hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Alright, _Mare_, careful now. We only have an hour before the plane lands, and as much fun as I'm sure what you have in mind would be, I have the details of our cover story to go over with you "

"Spoilsport," she said, cheekily, and she stuck her tongue out at him in a childish gesture.

He tugged her forward lightly by the hand he still held, his mouth covering hers instantly, sucking her tongue into his own mouth, the kiss brief but thorough, hot. Then he was leaning back in his own seat again, looking at her, and she was trying to get the world to stop dancing.

He gave her a cheeky little grin of his own and said, "Think of it as a pleasure delayed, not a pleasure denied, Mary."

Her heart was racing, and she took a deep breath trying to calm down. How the hell did he _do_ that? How did he know how to redline her engines so fast?

_Gonna get you back for that later, Marshall. Gonna peel that composure off you in layers and watch you come apart. You're getting entirely too damn smug for your own good.... Going to make that number one on my "To Do" list once we get somewhere and get settled. Yes, indeed. A pleasure delayed. Get yourself ready._

He should have been afraid of the feral smile that crept across her lips, but he was busy getting his notes out of his bag, and by the time he looked at her again, she was all innocence and attention.

---

"Mr. Shannon has been instrumental in setting up the needed backstory for this operation. He had his payroll work some minor magic, and I am now Mr. Marshall Hunter, member of his personal security force."

Mary laughed. "Just can't let go of that name, can you?"

Marshall shrugged. "What can I say? I appreciate the irony of it. I already have identification made up for it. Plus, if Ramirez starts to check deeply and finds out that I was in Vegas before after you, it will help prevent gaps in the story."

"And how are you going to explain the fact that you, Mr. Hunter, were seen by at least one member of housekeeping bound to a headboard?"

Marshall blushed. It was faint, but the color traced his cheekbones, and Mary felt an almost irresistible urge to press a kiss there. _So sweet, sometimes._ "Well, actually, I went ahead and worked...all that...into the backstory."

She laughed in delight. "You did? This is what I think I meant when I said you were the planning-est SOB I knew. Tell me."

He grinned, blush deepening. "Apparently you and I met while you were at the Phoenix Dream this past time, and we became...friendly. We, um...got a little too...athletic...in our pursuits....and since you have some odd ideas about things...we had a bit of an argument about your predilection for zip ties .... and you left me stranded there...."

She punched him in the arm. "So why do I have to come off as the pervert in this story?"

Marshall rubbed his arm and leaned away, clearly trying not to laugh. "I had to make it believable, right?" He immediately started to ward off the blows she began to aim at him.

"You had so better fucking be kidding me, Marshall Mann, or …."

He was cackling hysterically, trying to keep her from leaving bruises, and finally, he managed to gasp, "Yeah, stop. Stop. Okay. I'll tell you."

She leaned away but kept one fist balled menacingly.

"We got into an argument because you thought I was stepping out on you, and you being the creative lady you are, you thought it would be good revenge to do what you did. Nothing perverted involved...."

She lowered the fist...

"....except you and I both know differently, don't we?"

"Oh, you are so asking for it!" She lunged, laughing, and he caught her.

"Yeah. Yeah, I kind of am." He was still laughing when he kissed her again.

Minutes later, they were back at it.

"So how are we explaining your being at the Mississippi house if we had a fight?"

"Mr. Shannon, aware of our personal relationship, has assigned me to be your personal bodyguard. He likes me and hopes that the two of us will work out our differences and make a go of things. He believes that my personal feelings for you will help me do my job better."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Reeeally? It's your job to keep all this safe? How lucky are you?"

His grin was lascivious. "Very. It's a job with too many perks to list."

"And so you came to Mississippi to both make up and protect me? Aww...."

"Yeah. I know it. We're a walking romance novel looking for a place to happen. Lifetime will be knocking down the doors any moment now."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "What would a manly man U.S. Marshal know about Lifetime, Mr. Hunter? Should I be worried about your viewing habits?"

Again, that charming flush of red stained his face. "No, I mean, I know _about_ it. I don't actively _watch_ it. I mean, I might have seen a piece of one movie or something when I was flipping through the channels or something.... Look. Let's get back to this, okay?"

_Adorable. Just too fucking adorable for words. I want to tuck him in my pocket and keep him, hold him next to my heart like an oversized stuffed bear when he's like this. _

"Your secret's safe with me. So how did you wind up in Guanacaste?"

"Shannon sent me to pick you up. I wasn't able to come down with you because he wanted to debrief me about the incident in Mississippi and then the word will be that he had me actually hunting Ramirez, but now that you're going to return to a place of danger, he wants me with you all the time. And, of course, we are madly in love, having made up and made out in tropical paradise." He met her eyes a moment, and he smiled a small, self-conscious smile before looking away, down to the pile of papers he held, hands suddenly busy shuffling them. "It's always good to throw little bits of truth in there somewhere whenever you can to hold a story together...."

_Which part? Which parts are true parts, Marshall? The hunting Raph part, the debriefing J.P., the sex in the tropical sun, or the...the...other? And which parts do I want to be true? Oh God... Why am I suddenly hoping so hard for door number four? Idiot..._

"So now we're going to be landing and heading straight for the Phoenix Dream. You'll be checking in to whatever room you usually keep there, and I'll be staying with you as your boyfriend/bodyguard with Mr. Shannon's blessing. You'll do whatever sorts of things you usually do when you're in Vegas, and we will be very, very visible, very showy with being a couple in love.

We know Ramirez made his last kill two days ago in Vegas, so we have reason to believe he's still there. It shouldn't be hard to draw him out, and he shouldn't see me as much of a threat if he thinks I'm just one of your uncle's hired guns instead of a Federal Marshal. When he makes his move, we nail him to the floor."

She smiled fiercely. "That's the part I like the best."

---

The jet was on the ground and they were quickly swept into a waiting car. Soon they were striding through the lobby of the Phoenix Dream, past the elaborate gold and scarlet fountain, its crystal accents catching the sun spilling in through the skylight to shatter light into a thousand tiny rainbows, the huge mythical bird the casino took its name from rising from licking flames and foaming, seething water in the middle of the pool to soar upwards in beautiful eternal frozen flight. Mary studied it as she headed for the check-in desk, feeling as always a kinship with the fierce creature.

George was on duty when she stepped up, and his face lit in a pleased smile. "Ms. Shannon! It's so good to see you. We were told you'd be coming in. What floor would you like this trip? We can put you in one of the penthouse suites if you like."

She looked over her shoulder at Marshall who was standing a few paces behind her, his body language that she had seen a hundred times, a thousand, in the men and women whose job it was to guard the rich and the powerful who came to play and do business inside her uncle's world. It was somehow subtly different from his stance as a Marshal, more wary, less assertive, but no less dangerous.

_Okay. So we're really doing this, then. If we're going to play this little drama, let's go all out._

She turned around and gave George a little grin, leaned in, lowered her voice. "George, I think I would like a specific room this time. Is there anybody in 978?"

---

Marshall was scanning the crowds for any sign of Ramirez. He knew logically that it was far too early for him to be there, too early for the man to make a move, but he almost hungered for it. He knew Shannon had been spreading the tale of their return as Marshall had asked him to do, and so it should even now be filtering out into the places Ramirez would be likely to hear it.

Mary turned away from the counter, key cards in the small paper envelope in her hand, a smile of pure mischief playing around her lips. She crossed the two steps to where he stood and removed one of the cards to slide it into his jacket pocket, looking up into his eyes, fingertips resting lightly against his chest after she finished the motion.

_Showtime._

He smiled back at her, wondering what she had up her sleeve, wondering what was making her golden eyes dance with such fun, and he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, turning it over to press a kiss into the palm.

Her grin became a full-fledged smile, one promising something mind-altering, and she stepped past him.

_At least nobody can say this is going to be dull... _He shook himself out of contemplating what she might be planning, took up their bags, and followed her toward the elaborately carved golden doors of the elevators.

---

It was when the doors opened on the ninth floor that he began to wonder what she'd done. Still, he reasoned, her room before had been here. Perhaps she stayed here every time.... When her steps took her past the room she'd stayed in previously, he felt like smacking himself in the forehead for not stepping up to the counter with her, for being so caught up in his surveillance that this had been allowed to happen.

Sure enough, she paused before the door of a room he'd thought, actually prayed, never to see again, 978, turned and reached into his jacket pocket for the key she'd dropped there. He caught her hand gently by the wrist.

"Mary...this room? Really? All the rooms in this whole hotel, and this is the one you picked?" He could almost feel the zip ties cutting into his arms, wondered fleetingly if there were still any of them wrapped around various items in his office, if she had any of them in the black bag on his shoulder.

She saw the troubled light in his eyes, and she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smile gone completely. She realized suddenly that what she'd done had somehow caused him problems. "You and I, Marshall, we have unfinished business here. We need to take care of it. So yeah, this room. Really." She turned back to the door, worked the lock, opened the door, stepped inside.

_Shit. Nobody ever said this assignment was going to be completely without peril, Mann. Cowboy up and get in there. _Marshall took a deep breath and stepped in after her.

---

Marshall had to meet with his Federal team and coordinate with J.P., and this took much of the first day. Mary was a part of the meeting, but she felt oddly out of place. Marshall was so different here. There was no playfulness, no flirtation. He was all business, and although he consulted her frequently, he was definitely standing back from her. She felt....shunned. _This is the act, not the other. Or do I have it backwards? I need to get the hell out of here. I can't think straight...._

Marshall could see her restlessness, and in some degree, he could sympathize.

"Well, folks, I think Ms. Shannon and I need to go out and be seen. You should have it under control enough here without us to continue the detail work. If you need us, you have both our cellphone numbers."

He placed his hand impersonally on Mary's back and guided her out of the room, down the hall and into the elevators, away from the scrutiny of the Federal eyes. Then he slipped his hand into hers.

"What do you want to do now?"

She looked at him, aware of what he'd just done.

"They don't know, then."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. "No. And I'd prefer to keep it that way, prefer it if they thought that this was just a cover for now."

She tilted her head, withdrawing her hand from his, crossed her arms over her chest, waited to be able to draw a whole breath so she was sure of sounding strong when she spoke. She tried to crush the jagged little pain that was cutting through her heart. _What did you think this was, Mary? Really, what did you hope for?_

"And what exactly is _this_, Marshall? What dirty thing exactly is it that you're doing in the dark of night that you don't want your pure, clean Marshal buddies to see you with in the light of day?" _God, I should have seen this coming a mile a way.... _She turned away, grabbed on to the brass railing that ran waist-height around the elevator. _I will not fucking cry. I will fucking not. I may kill him, though. Goddamn this. Goddamn him...._

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and he turned her around. She would not look up, focused instead on the black and white checkerboard tile of the elevator floor. He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

"Mary...don't." Something about his tone drew her unwilling eyes up to meet his, and she saw genuine pain there, in equal measure to her own. "You can't think, you can't think that I meant that...."

Despite her intentions, she felt a tear slide hot down her cheek. She brought a hand up to swipe at it. _Fuck._ She slapped at his hand where it cupped her face.

"What am I supposed to think, Marshall? You tell me? We're all over each other all the time, but suddenly when we're in the room with the goddamn white knights, I'm an untouchable pariah. What the fuck would you think if the tables were turned around? It's nice be able to get tail on the side, isn't it? Breaks up the monotony, does it?"

He grabbed her shoulders, shook her gently. "Don't you ever let me hear you say that about yourself, about this. I have never looked at you that way. Mary, you are the most amazing woman I have ever known. You have more strength and courage, have survived more and kept the humor, the love of life alive in you despite all odds, more than anybody I've ever known. You constantly humble me, astonish me. I could never be ashamed of you. You....I...." He lowered his mouth and kissed her, and although her heart soared at his words, at the emotion she felt pouring through their joined lips, she still couldn't make them fit his actions. She broke the kiss.

"So why did you treat me so strangely? Why is it such a big deal if they know that we're sleeping together?" _Oh please have a good answer, Marshall...._

Marshall traced a hand over her cheek, gentle, loving, and sighed. "Because if they find out that this is more than a cover story, my judgment comes into question. If my judgment comes into question, the deal the US District Attorney offered you will be questioned, be seen as some kind of favoritism. Mary, I have to be absolutely professional in every way when we're with them because if they suspect how I really feel, I am putting you in danger."

---

Killing was not enough this time. The rage he felt was so total, so consuming that he actually thought his heart would burst. He had to lean a moment, hands covered in blood up to the forearm, making streaking handprints that looked like macabre cave drawings on the clean cream-colored paint of the storeroom walls. When the pounding inside him settled somewhat, he turned back to his prey, and he set out to leave an unmistakable message. There would be no wings for this one...

The corpse of a tall, dark-haired, slender man had been so mutilated that it would take dental records for the police to determine who he had been before the murderous force had taken hold of him. The note that was found crumpled beside him read:

M –

I warned you. You are mine. I told you I would not tolerate the presence of another. They say you let him touch you, caress you, that he is your lover. Voy a matarle. As many times as it takes. And when he is gone, you and I, mi corazon, we are going to have to have a very, very long talk.

R

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**And so here they go.... If my Spanish is a bit off, please excuse me. I haven't been using it lately, so it has gotten a bit rusty. As always, I welcome feedback. It helps me keep going.  
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	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I just received my 100th review from roar526, and I think it's time to celebrate that. Happy 100th everyone. From Super Marshal Marshall, Bad Girl Mary, Psycho Raph, and John Patrick, we love you all. Get dressed up. Drinks are free at the Phoenix Dream Blues Club tonight....

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Kissing is like drinking salted water. You drink, and your thirst increases. ~Chinese Proverb

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The elevator doors opened, and Mary and Marshall stepped out. She walked down the hallway toward their room, head down, mind racing. He followed a pace or two behind her, letting her walk with the privacy she so clearly wanted. She couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said, _"_I have to be absolutely professional in every way when we're with them because if they suspect how I really feel, I am putting you in danger."

_So there are two disturbing things in that sentence. One, that they might take away the deal. That's a big scary pile of shit. But actually, I've been in that situation before, and I was handling it okay before he showed up, so... That brings up number two, "how he really feels." That's not disturbing, maybe, so much as it is...intriguing? Exciting? _

Her heart, downcast moments ago, was now fluttering a little. That kiss he'd given her, the words he'd said had made her wonder at what he hadn't been able to say at the end.

_This conversation is not over. But I'm going to take what he just told me about the meeting on faith. It's been a long time since I was willing to do that, but I think the situation we're in warrants a little trust...._

They paused at the door to the room, and she looked back at him. His hands were in his pockets, and he was staring down at the toes of his shoes, an unhappy expression on his face.

She opened the door and let them both in, walked over to the bed and sat down. He stood near the door, one hand coming up to run through his hair, frustration growing but clearly not knowing what to say.

She patted the bed beside her. "Come here, Marshall and sit down."

Reluctantly, he came over and sat down. _Like a little boy who is about to be scolded._ She reached over and took one of his hands in hers. He laced his fingers with her and gripped her hand loosely, lightly, as if he expected at any moment to have to let it go for good.

"If I'm perfectly honest with you, I don't know how I feel about the fact that your buddies in the Marshal service might try to change their minds about things if they find out we're together...."

He'd been preparing for this, been getting himself ready for her withdrawal from him, had been afraid from the moment she'd been angry in the elevator that this would be her decision. He had to respect it, no matter how much the little voice inside him was howling....

He nodded, spoke, "I understand. I know how important your freedom is to you. I would never do anything to jeopardize that. I will go downstairs right now and get an adjoining room. We'll get another Marshal up here to help with the night watches. Nobody will be able even to suggest that there's any impropriety..."

She was watching him, saw the tight curve of his shoulders, felt the way his hand was holding hers, _the way you'd hold a bird you were trying not to frighten into flight._ _He'd really do it if he thought it's what __I wanted, then. He'd step away from all of it, even though I think he...I think we... Oh, Marshall..._

She put her hand over his mouth as he was still speaking, still making promises that he'd leave her to protect her, to ensure her safety. "Marshall," she said softly. His eyes, blue and full of storm clouds, slowly came up to meet hers.

"I'm not asking you to be a martyr. I'm not even asking you to step away. That you would be willing to do that, though..." She leaned over to him, and she ran her hand gently along the curve of his face as if she were learning the lines of it, committing him to memory... "that may be the sweetest thing I have ever had anybody say to me." She brought her mouth to his, kissed him as if it were the first time, soft, sweet, tender.

His heart registered her words..._not asking me to step away...don't have to give her up..._and he slipped his arms around her, unable to stop the flood of relief that he felt. _I could have done it if she'd asked...would have, but the cost of it, seeing her every day but never having this, not having all the little things...I don't know what I would have done..._

She broke the kiss, continued to hold him.

"Marshall, I ...Let's just make a promise, okay? Let's just promise that whatever this is that we have, this thing that's growing between us, is going to survive this, even though it's going to be hard as hell at times, even though we're both going to get frustrated with things. Let's make a promise that neither one of us is going to run away or step back for real without telling the other first. If we do that, if we can be there for each other, then I think we can make it through whatever we have to do or pretend to be for everybody else." Her eyes searched his, unable to keep the thread of nerves from showing in her own. _If I'm wrong about what he feels, I guess I'll know it now..._

He nodded, brushed his mouth across hers. "So, we're in it together officially, then, Mary? Us against the world?" He smiled oddly.

"What?" she asked, curious to know what could have moved him to humor at a time like this.

He shook his head a little, studied the lines and curves of her face before answering. "Call it cosmic irony. My office has been trying to partner me for three years now, unsuccessfully. I guess I was just waiting for you."

---

They went out to meet some of her friends at a hot little dance club. Mary had some of her clothing sent up from storage, and the Marshal Service had sent some of Marshall's belongings from his home. Marshall sat typing on his little netbook, catching up on online obligations, while Mary finished getting ready.

When she came out of the bathroom of the huge suite and into the seating area, he almost fumbled the tiny computer out of his lap. _Holy freakin' wow._

She smiled. "I'll take that expression as a compliment, then." Her dress was black, backless, and revealed enough leg to make him glad he wore a gun. He was going to need it once they got to the club and other guys saw her in that outfit.... "Are you ready to go?"

_Go? Go where? The bed is over th... Oh yeah..._

He stowed the computer, stood up, and took her outstretched hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. "You look fantastic, you know."

Her smile was sassy, provocative. "Yeah. Actually, I do know it. Wait until you see me dance." She did a little shake and shimmy still holding on to his hand that had her anatomy doing interesting things....

He couldn't help but smile in return, and he rolled his eyes, placed a hand over his heart. "I may not be able to take it. What did you do, take lessons from the showgirls here when you were younger?"

She looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You laugh, but..."

_Oh. God. _"Really? No. You're just trying to yank my chain. It is, by the way, working...."

She walked him to the door. "I'm perfectly serious. They were everywhere when I was growing up, and I wanted to learn to dance, so...who better to teach you than women who do it well for a living?"

He grinned, pushed the elevator button as they reached it. "So you have extensive training in feathers and sequins, is this what you're telling me?"

She waited until they got in the small confines of the elevator, and then she made a neat little dance turn, ending with a tango-esque leg hooked around his, her hand spread on his chest. Her breath warmed his ear. "Mmm-hmm. I have a high kick that would make a Rockette proud and I also know what every girl should about g-strings and pasties, if you're curious."

He struggled to make his suddenly very distracted brain piece all the images and words together when his primary urge was to grab and take. "But...but...g-strings and pasties...that's strippers...right? Not showgirls...."

Her husky laugh caressed his ear, and then she pressed her mouth to his bobbing Adam's apple where he swallowed quickly. "Well, I believe in being very thorough when I want to learn about something and some of those girls had done double duty.... How about you, Marshall? You believe in being...thorough, right?" He felt her smile.

_Tease. God. Drag you back upstairs if we didn't have to...have to...what is it we're going to do again?_

He lowered his head and found her mouth waiting for his own, just a little parted, lips still curving in that cat-satisfied smile. He flicked his tongue in between them, hungry from the images she'd created with her words, from the sight of her in the little black dress. The elevator opened to the lobby, and they were kissing, she still pressed against him, his hands holding her at the waist and nape. One of the bellboys whistled, jarring them back to awareness, and Mary pulled away from him, licking her lips, still feline, cat after the cream.

"Going to be thinking about that all night long, aren't you, Marshall?"

"Yeah," he said. "Think so." _How can I think about anything else? I've already seen some of those moves, but...._

"Good. Because I _want_ you to think about it. Remember what you said about pleasures delayed. Now come on. We have a performance to do, and then, if you're really, really good, you might get a private show all of your own."

---

Her friends were not what he expected. He didn't really know what he expected, actually, but this mixture of people tonight was intriguing. There was a quiet, dark-haired girl who introduced herself as Lisa and her boyfriend Paul, loud, garrulous, redhaired. They apparently did something with computers. Marshall found them easy to talk to, spent a pleasant time comparing notes on the latest technology. The other member of the group was a tall, curvy, African-American woman who came into the club after they arrived and turned heads as she crossed the floor. She was introduced as Thea, and Mary simply said they'd known each other for a long, long time.

Marshall had the feeling he was being weighed and measured, especially by Thea. She was almost as tall as he, and she wasn't even wearing heels. Mary had been pulled out on the floor dancing with Paul and Lisa, and Marshall was sitting at the table chatting with Thea idly about whatever topic crossed their minds. He was a bit distracted by the need to keep watch over Mary and the effect of keeping that watch as she moved in the black dress, so Thea snuck in a conversational one-two punch on him without him seeing it coming.

"So...Marshall....what do you think of our girl here?"

Marshall's attention snapped back to Thea. _Should have seen this coming. Time to play this up._ "I knew there had to be an ulterior motive in my suddenly being left here....so this is the interrogation portion of the evening, is it?" He smiled, softening his words.

Thea angled her head, looked at him with disconcertingly perceptive eyes, did not smile in return. "See what you did right there, honey, that's not an answer. That's an evasion. Evasions are not good. Evasions, are, in fact, fairly dangerous in some contexts...."

"Ah. I see. Sorry. Well, then....what I think of Mary. I think she's amazing. I've never met anybody like her. From the very first moment we met, she's been knocking me out and leading me on a merry chase." _Oh...the verbal irony...oh please, please let her tell Mary what I said...._ "Every day with her is an adventure. I never know what's going to happen next."

Thea looked at him, sensing but not understanding the humor under his words. "So she'd been kicking your ass, has she? Yeah, she'll do that....."

_You have no idea...._

"_...._but a wise man understands that she's worth it, right?"

"Oh," said Marshall, earnestly, wholeheartedly, watching her moving on the dance floor, "absolutely. Worth any danger."

Mary looked over at the two of them, curved her hand in a beckoning gesture, a huge smile curving her lips, and Marshall excused himself from Thea, rose and went to join her.

---

_It ought to be illegal, the things she can do with her body, the things she does to mine without even half trying, I swear..._

The bass beat of the music was tangible, pulsing through his body. Mary had her back to him and her arm was twined up around his neck, holding on to him as she twisted to the music. Marshall wasn't much of a dancer, but even if he had been, he wouldn't have been able to remember any of the steps or motions with what she was doing.

_Jesus. At least this place is so crowded that all I really have to do is hold her and step back and forth some. _

She turned and was immediately pressed up against him by the writhing crowd. She smiled up at him seductively as his hands slid down to rest on her hips.

"Having a good time?"

He arched his brow at her, smiled back, gestured with one hand idly. "You can't tell?"

She took a moment to assess the body held against her, felt the condition of it, allowed her smile to blossom into a wicked grin full of promises. "Well, now that you mention it..."

He blushed a little, but pulled her tighter against him. "That's not exactly what I meant..."

"Oh, relax. Aren't we supposed to be putting on a show, anyway?" she purred, running her fingers up his chest to the vee of his shirt, body still swaying against his to the pulsing rhythm.

"Mmm. Now that you mention it, I seem to remember that being an integral part of the plan. Yeah."

"So I think it's time for the floor show, Marshall. What did you have in mind?" Her hand was now teasing the short hair at the nape of his neck, fingers circling gently.

"Maybe something like this..." He lowered his mouth, brushed it lightly across hers, once, twice.

"Not bad," she murmured, only a breath away from him, "not a bad start at all. Where were you going from there? Or was that all you had on your agenda?"

He smirked. _Going to be that way with it, are you?_ He squinted his eyes briefly, pretended to think about it a moment, then..."Well, what about..." and his hands slid from her waist to cup her bottom, and he leaned in, pressed a nibbling kiss to the place where her neck joined her shoulder. "That work, you think?" He spoke the words working his way up the column of her throat to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

_Oh hell, yeah. That works for me.... _She purred a little, angled her head to give him better access, flexed her hands on the back of his neck. "So far, I'm loving this plan, Marshall. Very nice. Classic, even."

He laughed, huskily. "Wait till you see the next bit," and his mouth covered hers, his tongue slipping between her lips to tease and slide against her own. Their bodies ceased moving to the music and the ebb and flow of the crowd around them as they became absorbed in the sensations they were creating.

They became aware of hooting and catcalls from the edge of the floor, and they broke the kiss. Mary looked over to the table where her friends sat, the source of the noise, and looked back to Marshall, totally unrepentant. "Saved by the bell, as it were. So ends the floor show."

He shrugged, kissed her lightly once more before taking her hand to lead her off toward the table. "Oh well. As the cliché says, all good things, and all that...."

Mary tugged his hand, making him pause, look back at her, "Uh-uh, Marshall. No way is this the end of this good thing...."

---

Even though Marshall had been observant, even he hadn't been able to see every person in the club. Raph had been counting on the darkness, the distraction, the crowds to act as camouflage. He wasn't here to strike. He was here to see the competition, here to stalk his prey.

This one was dangerous. That was the word on the street. Normally, he'd have thrown caution to the winds, but he had a still-healing wound to the shoulder that proved the tall man on the dance floor had a degree of threat to him.

Raph tucked himself into a corner, ignored advances from several scantily-clad women, and hungrily followed the objects of his obsession as they danced. He'd been careful not to order any alcohol, anything that could fray his control, but as he reached for the glass of water, his hand shook as he watched Mary press herself against the man's spare frame. When he touched her, lowered his head to kiss her, Raph's hand simply crushed the glass, ice and water flowing over the table.

He was gone before a server could rush over to ask whether or not he was injured and start to clean up the mess. He'd seen what he needed to see.

---

Mary pushed the button for the ninth floor. They'd chatted in the car on the ride back to the casino, talked about her friends. Mary had laughed at Marshall. It turned out that Lisa and Paul who "did things with computers" were military-grade hackers for hire and probably belonged on one of his wanted fugitive lists. Marshall had just shrugged mentally at the news. _No wonder they knew so much about that latest encryption...wonder how long they've been trying to hack it, or if they already have...._

"They liked you, you know. You officially passed."

He looked at her, brow arching skyward. "Did I? Was this a test, then? Had I known, I think I would have dressed up a bit more or something..."

She swatted at him. "They were asking about you when they heard that I was seeing somebody seriously that they hadn't met. Since....him...they've been really protective."

"What would have happened if they hadn't liked me?" He was smiling, rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders gently.

She leaned into him. "Well...that's kind of what Thea was there for."

"What?"

"It was always the joke when we were growing up. Calling Thea 'The Enforcer'. We had no idea that when she grew up, she was really going to take it all so damn seriously, so...professionally...."

"Wait. What the hell are you saying, Mary?"

"I'm saying you should be really, really glad that Thea likes you. It would have been a very long night, otherwise...."

Nothing else Marshall asked her pried a single other detail about Thea out of her, but the look and the comments the tall woman had given him sitting at the table suddenly began to take on a whole different context.... _Jee-zus..._

---

Once they were back in the room, Mary took the first shower, slipped out in a fluffy robe, left the bathroom ready for Marshall. As he lathered and rinsed, his mind turned back over the events of the long day, trying to piece together all the new aspects of Mary and his relationship with her that had been revealed. He stepped out of the beautiful tiled shower with a towel wrapped around him looking for the pajamas he'd brought into the bath with him.

They were gone.

_I know I didn't forget them. I know I brought them in here. What the hell?_

He walked to the door of the bath, stuck his head out, looked around. Mary was nowhere to be seen. _Must have gone into the other room to watch TV or relax. _ Where were the pants? He knew he'd brought them in.

_Maybe I didn't. Maybe I was so distracted that I did just leave them in my bag. _

He looked again, hiked the towel more tightly around his waist, crossed the room to where his gear was sitting. He dug through the bag, growing more frustrated by the second, and still the flannel pajama bottoms were missing. Near the bottom of the bag, his fingers encountered the familiar feeling of the soft fabric, and he almost shouted in triumph, closing his hands on it and pulling. Out popped not the black pants with the Tabasco sauce print he'd been hunting, but instead the all-too-familiar red flannel covered in water-skiing Santas and swimsuit clad elves....

_I've been set up.... These were not in my bag earlier. I KNOW it._

He gritted his teeth and slid the pants on, turned to hear the door to the other room opening. The damp towel he'd lifted to carry back to the bathroom fell out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. Mary was standing framed in the doorway, wearing a black lace bra and his missing Tabasco sauce pants.

"Time for your private show, Mr. Hunter."

* * *

**Love you. Don't shoot me. More to come soon. I promise... Remember what Marshall says, "A pleasure delayed is not a pleasure denied." That's my story, and I'm sticking to it....**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So I left you in the lurch last time. I'm about to make up for it. In spades. Oven mitts on, darlings....

* * *

**

Dance till the stars come down from the rafters  
Dance, Dance, Dance till you drop.  
~W.H. Auden

Shake it 'til the moon becomes the sun.

~Vada Nobles, Carl Sturken, Evan Rogers, and Alisha Brooks, "Pon de Replay," performed by Rihanna

* * *

Marshall couldn't move. He felt the towel drape itself across his foot in an uncomfortably wet heap, knew he needed to speak, to pick it up, to respond, to do _something_, but he was transfixed by the sight of her there, hands outstretched on the wooden door facing, leaning slightly, the muscle tone in her arms displayed by the pose. His eyes devoured her, the contrast between the elegant feminine lace of the black bra and the slouchy comfortable flannel of his pajama pants captivating him. On this woman, the paradox became somehow exotic.

It was not, however, as enticing as the fact that the black flannel that covered her was his own. Somehow, the knowledge that the fabric covering the long, lovely legs he'd seen so much of during the evening of dancing as they flashed and flirted under the tiny black dress was his own made him needy, eager to get his hands on the drawstring waistband to divest her of them.... He took a step forward toward her, fingers curling in reflex to his thoughts, unaware even of his movement, eyes going dark.

She saw the change in him, saw the want flash hot in his blue eyes, and she smiled and shook a finger at him. "Uh-uh. You got to execute your plan earlier. Now it's my turn." She stepped into the room and took his hand, pulled him behind her toward the bed.

"Just tell me that whatever you have in mind for the evening does not in any way, form, or fashion involve zip ties, and I'm in...." Marshall's lips quirked as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, but his little grin faded as she looked him slowly up and down with hot, hot eyes and said....

"I make you no, promises, Mr. Hunter." And she pushed him backwards, forcing him to sit down. She leaned in and gave him a quick, thorough kiss. "Now you just be a good boy and sit there. These are the rules. I dance. You watch. Keep your hands to yourself, and I promise you something you will never, ever forget, okay?" He remained where she'd left him, sitting in a daze on the edge of the big bed, helpless to do more than nod. _I think I should probably be scared of this.... _She rewarded him with another lingering kiss. _Then again, really though, who the hell cares? _The wary part of his brain simply folded its tents and decamped for the evening in the face of such temptation.

She disappeared into the other room, and from the entertainment area he heard something with guitars and a heavy steady bass beat start up. _She's not really going to... Oh my... I am not going to survive this. _All night long as she'd twisted and moved to the dance music at the club,as her body had brushed across his own, his mind had stealthily snuck back to the images she'd implanted as they'd been heading down in the elevator, Mary learning dance moves from the showgirls, Mary with a killer high kick, Mary removing her own clothing piece by piece.... _I will go down in flames; EMS will have to be called..._

Mary appeared again in the doorway, already moving gently to the beat of the music. As she crossed the floor to him, she picked up her pace, her walk became a strut, and the movements of the shapely, athletic body in front of him sent his brain spiraling just as it had the night he'd watched her dance next to the pool in Costa Rica. Except this time, she wasn't just playing. She was performing. For him. _And good GOD what a difference...._ Whoever had taught her the moves had known what they were about.

She executed a graceful turn, and when she faced him again, her fingers were teasing the front clasp of the black lace bra. Precisely, and on the beat, her fingers flicked open the clasp, and she let it fall open and away, back arching. She slid the garment down to one hand and tossed it to him with a grin. He caught it, her scent wafting up to him as he ran the delicate fabric through his fingers. He could now only see the Tabasco pants and her wings above the waist of them.

She shimmied, knees bending down to allow her to put one hand on the floor, her other hand going to the drawstring of the pajama pants. Marshall's eyes were glued to her fingers as she slowly stood again, twisting to the music, tugging lightly at the bow. When it came undone, the pants, already too large for her, slithered over her hips and down her legs to puddle at her feet to reveal her gorgeous legs and...._Oh sweet fuck..._ a matching pair of microscopic black lace panties that did more to artfully frame and entice than conceal.

She stalked across the floor to where he sat on the bed, and she straddled his hips, still moving to the music. "Ever had a lapdance, Mr. Hunter?" _Her voice is sex, pure sin..._ His hands came up to clutch at her, and she swatted at them. "Nope. Remember the ground rules. You can look, but you can't touch...." She leaned in, licked at his ear, said huskily, "Don't make me...restrain you..." He couldn't stop the shiver than ran through him as her words conjured up memories of that other night, that elaborate headboard that spiraled upward behind them. He was as hard as forged steel, and she was still gyrating, pelvis flexing. She looped her arms around his neck, fingers stroking the tense mass of muscle at the nape. The position accentuated her beautiful breasts, and Marshall ached to stroke them, to bend his head and taste._ Tease. Torturer. Got to stop her. Don't let her stop...._

She made a sudden move, and she turned on his lap, back to his front as the music changed, the beat slowed, and as he looked down, he watched her hips pulse, felt the delicious torment of her ass grinding circles in his lap, saw the wings of her tattoo in full flight, lower, the naughty tease of black lace. His head fell back, hands formed fists against the rich fabric of the bedspread. He was unaware of the low, needy noise coming from his throat. _Going to have to touch her soon, going to have to...to...._

His eyes opened as he became aware of the weight of her leaving him. He groaned with the loss of it. She leaned in and cupped his face in her hands, pressing an kiss against his lips. He eagerly responded, meeting her exploring tongue, hands automatically coming up to reach for what he so desperately wanted. She smiled against his mouth, caught his hands and pressed them down against the mattress, murmured between kisses, "Didn't tell you it was time yet, did I?"

"God, Mary...I..."

She laughed a low, wicked laugh, and she pushed him backwards on the bed. She broke the kiss to press little nips down his neck. Her fingertips found and teased his nipples, circling, soothing, and he thought he was quite simply going to go out of his mind. He struggled to keep his hands on the spread as she'd ordered, but he longed to stroke, to grab, to sate his longing for her satin skin. Her mouth followed the path of her hands, and she was soon laving the taut nubs while her hands were sliding down his body to caress him through the red flannel of the Santa pants.

"Mmm..." she murmured bringing her mouth down to kiss the waistband. "I do so love these pajamas."

"Mary," he groaned, voice hoarse. He could no longer articulate a complete sentence. He looked down her where she moved to kneel between his legs, watched with an unbearable and still-rising tension as she slid the silly pants down his legs, and was beyond any form of organized thought at all as she rose back up between his legs to press a soft kiss to his knee.

"Been thinking about doing this to you all day, Marshall. Ever since we were on the plane. Did you know that?" She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his inner thigh, traced her tongue on it lightly, an abstract brand he felt sear him clean through. "What does it do to you to know I've been planning to do this" and she wrapped her hand around the splendid rock-hard length of him, caressed gently, "and this" she lowered her head to nuzzle his heavy testicles, flick her tongue against him there, teasing little touches of fire, "and this all day long....," she used the flat of her tongue to drag up the sensitive underside of him in a slow cat-like lapping caress, watching as his body bowed and his hands tore at the bedspread, her words and her touches combining to form an exquisite torment.

_I knew he'd be beautiful when he came apart. But he's not there, yet. More layers to peel away. Want him completely gone. More. More. I want more. _She took just the engorged head of him between her lips, teased him there with her tongue, used her hand at the heavy base, reveled in the hoarse cry, the rocking hips as he began to come undone, and then she took him deep, sucking him hard. He writhed, arched, voice calling her name, hands reaching for her to tangle helplessly in her hair, trying to pull her up his body, and when she resisted him, just clutching at her for the feel of her hair in his fingers, control gone at last, stripped away by her greedy mouth. His hips thrust as he became a creature of instinct, completely awash in the pleasure she was giving him, and she worked him with her tongue as he moved, wringing a louder moan from him. _Come for me, Marshall. Want to see you completely unglued... Don't hold anything back from me now._

She knew he was close, and she focused her efforts on the sensitive head, her hand stroking, squeezing, coaxing him. She looked up his straining body to see him staring down at her, eyes glazed, and she locked her gaze with his, and slid her mouth all the way down him again, never breaking eye contact. He threw his head back with a shout, and she tasted the salty flavor of him as he finally lost control.

---

She crawled up him, held him, was indulging herself in watching him come down from the heights to which she'd flung him. _He's so beautiful like this... I could do it again just to watch him come down from it again. _ He lay with one arm above his head, chest still heaving. She stroked a gentle hand across his cheek, watched his eyelids flutter over eyes still unfocused with his pleasure. She smirked in satisfaction, leaned down over him to kiss him. _And this, this is what a job well-done looks like...._

His hands suddenly came up to embrace her, draw her roughly down against him. She gasped at the unexpected motion, but the noise was cut off by his hungry mouth. The kiss was scorching, searing; he plundered her mouth relentlessly and while he did so, he rolled her under him.

"Seems like we were both planning for tonight then, I guess, Mary," he murmured against her throat, grazing lightly with his teeth, just short the the pressure that would leave a mark. He met her eyes with his own, his shimmering with a hot, wild, dangerous light. "And now, my beautiful, beautiful temptress, now, since the edge of urgency is gone, it's my turn again. I hope you're rested up because this plan is going to take lots," he kissed her, deceptively sweet and innocent, "and lots," this kiss was carnal, tongue sliding between her lips, teasing hers, still not urgent, "of time to finish...." He lowered his mouth to her breast, to the nipple that was now an aching peak, his hand sliding down to the scrap of black lace that had teased him, fascinated him....

Much, much later, when she was able to remember who she was and where, Mary shifted her sweaty and pleasantly tired body, panting, and was again forced to applaud the absolute thoroughness and originality of this man and his plans....

---

They were asleep in each other's arms when the call came. Marshall's phone rang on the bedside table behind them, and he rolled to reach it, trying not to dislodge Mary from where she was curled against him. He looked at the caller ID briefly, and felt the peacefulness their night together had created in him waver. He slipped gently out of her embrace, smiling despite his suspicions about the call when she sleepily complained at his departure, and went into the entertainment area before answering.

"This is Marshall."

"Mann, this is Lieutenant Dan Timmons, Vegas Homicide. We just found a body that I really think you ought to see."

"Let me guess. There's a note, right?"

"Bingo. Addressed to an 'M' who I'm guessing is your Ms. Shannon."

"Give me your location, and I'll be there as fast as I can. I won't be bringing Mary. I don't want her to see herself torn apart in effigy by this monster."

"Her? Oh, well, Mann, if that sort of thing bothers you, you might want to bring somebody to hold your hand on this one."

"Why? Wait. What do you mean?"

A dry and completely humor-free laugh rattled through the cell connection. "Got himself a ringer for you, this time, friend."

---

Marshall was coming through the door putting his Glock into its holster, getting ready to sneak out without waking Mary when the movement from the other side of the room caught his attention. Mary was sliding her black leather jacket on over a red shirt. She paused in the motion, looked over her shoulder at him, continued to slip into the garment. Her hair was already neatly pulled back, and her jeans covered her boot tops.

"You can't mean that you want to go with me."

She smiled, briefly, just a movement of her lips. "You can't mean that you think I'd let you go alone."

_Shit. Just what I need. Have to go face his handiwork, and I don't know if I can do it with her there, don't know if I can get the required detachment.... What's it going to do to her, anyway, to see this body? She does not need to go...._

"I don't suppose I could manage to talk you out of this somehow..."

"Marshall, look. Don't be an ass about this. If he's killed another girl, then as stupid as this sounds, I feel somehow connected to her, and yes, even though there is no logic at all for this, maybe even a little responsible. So I'd really like to be there." She crossed her arms over her chest, that warding gesture he saw sometimes.

Marshall walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her gently and kissed her on the forehead. "Mary, there's no reason for you to do this to yourself. You know you're not responsible for his actions. He's insane." He could not explain his reluctance to tell her that the body was not another blond woman.

She leaned into him, looked up, sighed. "I know. I told you it wasn't logical. But I am going. I will see it. I want to know all of it. Because one day, I'm going to be able to pay him back for all of them. For every sister of mine he ever touched and caused pain. I'm going to give him back measure for measure every ounce of it, Marshall."

He felt the iron strength of her in the promise, felt his own fears calm somewhat. This was not a woman who would break. This was not a woman he had to shelter even though his heart still longed to be able to do so. He stepped back, took her hand, and raised it to his lips in the gesture she'd come to know so well.

"Come on, then. Let's go, partner."

---

They took her car, the sleek green Charger that had been retrieved by John Patrick's men from Mississippi. It slid through the empty early morning streets of Las Vegas like the battle steed it was named after, and all too soon they were at the crime scene. Marshall paused outside the yellow police tape barrier, turned back to Mary, took her hands briefly.

"Are you sure about this? Timmons said it's bad, one of the worst he's ever seen, and he's been working Homicide for 15 years...."

Her eyes were wide in the dim light, but she nodded. "Where you go, so do I. I owe her that."

He sighed mentally. _And now for the hard part._ "Yeah. About that. He changed his pattern this time."

"What? What do you mean?" She looked startled, wary, searching his face for meaning.

"He didn't kill you this time, Mary. He killed me."

---

It was worse than anything Mary could possibly have imagined, and after what she'd been through with Raph personally, that was saying quite a lot. The body on the floor had been physically reminiscent of Marshall once. She could see that in the dark hair, in the height, in the build. What had been done to it, though....

_Well, that's enough to make the angels cry, isn't it?_

She felt her stomach turn over, fought rising gorge at the sight of the injuries and outright abominations inflicted on what was left of the person before her. She turned away, had to, as the last of even her iron nerve extinguished itself. She had no training for this, no experience with it other than her own sojourn into hell, and she fancied that she could, in fact, feel those scars flaring from their proximity to their maker's handiwork.

She trailed away to the safety of the sidelines, making sure her direct line of vision was obscured, while Marshall conferred with Timmons, grim, calm, his eyes the piercing and analytical eyes of the U.S. Marshal. _How can he look at such...such...evil...every day and still be the man who was in my bed earlier tonight? The man who wears such stupid pajamas? _She could not reconcile the two images, and her brain ached from trying.

_I've seen death. I've caused harm. I have friends who are some of the scariest people you ever hope you never meet. But this. I can't just look on this with analytical eyes. This, this is the work of a monster..._

Moments later, Marshall took something encased in a large clear plastic evidence bag from Timmons, studied it, and with a short nod, turned to walk over to where she stood. His eyes ran over her face, and in them she saw her Marshall looking out past the U.S. Marshal, concern and caring there, and she relief like rain on a dusty surface finally coming in to wash away some of her fear, doubt, and frustration. He extended the object in the bag to her, and she took it automatically, her eyes still on his.

He came to stand beside her, lowered his head a little, said gently, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, made a face, "Yeah. It was just...."

He reached out, tucked a strand of hair that had come loose back behind her ear. "Yeah. I know. I'm so sorry." He straightened, and she saw the U.S. Marshal reappear. "He left this at the scene. It was addressed to you, as all the others have been. It looks like our plan worked, and I think it's safe to say Ramirez is aware of our presence here in Vegas as a couple."

That made her sick and furious all over again. If Raph had his way, it really would be Marshall lying on the floor of some cold room somewhere, torn almost beyond recognition. She didn't doubt that the poor man on the floor had taken a long time to die. She'd seen too much when she'd looked at him not to recognize the look of his wounds. Raph has cut him, torn him, ripped him... The thought of him doing that to Marshall, of Marshall suddenly being gone permanently from her life, was unbearable.

"We have to get out of here, Marshall. Right now. Are you done? Can you take me home?"

He placed his hand over hers, squeezed gently, as much contact as he was allowed to have with her in this place, in front of so many watching eyes. He took the note, went back to Timmons, finalized the arrangements needed to have copies of all the appropriate reports sent to the Phoenix Dream. The whole time he was finishing things up, Mary found herself transfixed by the sight of the dead man, his proxy, on the floor.

_It could have been him. Next time, it might well be him, if Raph finds him, if Marshall isn't careful. We have so little time. We have so much stacked up against us. Damn it all to hell, what's that quote about true love never running smoothly_....

Her mind jerked in its tracks as though it were a freight train hit by a cannon ball. _Wait. Did I just say...love? As in Love? _Her eyes shot back to Marshall, followed him as he crossed the crime scene to talk to the CSU chief briefly before turning to head back to where she stood. As she watched him walk back, she realized she was shaking slightly. He noticed, and attributing it to the cool night air and the strange stresses of the situation, he slipped his arm around her shoulders, gentle, supportive, as they walked back to the car. She stole glances at him from under her lashes, stunned by what she'd realized in the presence of such death and destruction. _Oh hell. I am in such serious fucking trouble now...._ They were both silent, lost in their individual worlds of thought as the Charger pushed through the night back to the Phoenix Dream.

* * *

**More to come during the weekend, hopefully. R&R. I love hearing from you.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hang on tight, folks. Here we go....

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**

He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.

~Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

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Neither of them spoke much as they returned to the Phoenix Dream. The day had been too long, held too much. When they got back to their room, they took off their shoes and jackets while sitting on the bed. Marshall took off his gun and badge before sliding them into his bedside table and turned to glance at Mary to see her slipping a foot-long blade into the drawer of hers. She caught his startled glance, smiled and shrugged philosophically.

"Hey, to each his own, right?"

He laughed, unable to help it. It was the topper to this insane ride they'd been on and so perfectly in keeping with her character.... He rolled onto the bed and pulled her into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, still smiling.

"We still have a few good hours of sleep left before we have to go out and face the world, guns, knives, and all, I think. Let's take advantage of them. If today was any indication, we're going to need it."

They were asleep in moments, each one's arms wrapped tightly around the other, instinctively holding on in sleep to what had become most precious to them.

---

Mary walked into the entertainment area of John Patrick's office feeling rather subdued. She was still unsure of what to do with this new emotion that was swirling through her veins. It was like having whiskey butterflies inside her, she decided, exhilarating, uplifting, scary, beautiful, and with an intoxicating burn she had come to crave, but with the potential to impair judgment, and maybe lead to actions she might regret. And weren't butterflies notoriously short-lived for all their splendor?

Marshall had reluctantly agreed to leave her at the Phoenix Dream with John Patrick while he left to go to another crime scene, this one another woman newly discovered in the basement of one of John Patrick's office buildings. Mary needed a little time away to think about everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, and since she knew Marshall also needed time to do whatever mysterious law enforcement things it was that he did, they had decided she'd stay with John Patrick while he took care of this latest discovery. _Besides, to be honest, they said she's been there for a couple of days, and I really, really don't know if even iron willpower would have been enough to get me through that...._ Mary shuddered as she considered it, knew she'd steel herself to look at the crime scene photos when Marshall brought them back.

John Patrick was not in yet. He'd had a meeting that morning, but she knew he'd be there soon. She took a chair near the windows and let her mind muse as her eyes randomly traced objects in the open panoramic view of the Vegas Strip.

_So the question is this: Is this really Love or is this just some kind of response to crisis? You know, like all those dumb chicks in action movies who fall for the hero just because he happens to swagger in at the right time and carry a gun. And look good in a tight-fitting pair of jeans. I would hate to think of myself as that shallow and deluded... But I will have to say that he does look exceptionally good in his jeans.... _

Mary smiled wickedly, immediately frowned and shook her head.

_That's what I mean about whiskey butterflies and intoxicated thinking. Damn. Think seriously here. What is it about him you might...might...oh, at least be brave enough to say the fucking word to yourself, please...Love?_

A cascade of images rushed into her mind, odd bits and pieces tumbling over each other to present themselves as parts of the answer to that question. She saw Marshall standing over her in Mississippi, felt the quilt descend over her again, saw him take her hand and sit on the floor beside her to hold her in that wet, stormy room. She saw the harmless TechnoNerd in the back corner of the coffee shop who had smirked at her in triumph of a plan well-executed all those many weeks ago. She saw the hot blue eyes of the lover who had brought her pleasure again and again selflessly, generously. She saw those eyes transform to the piercing gaze of the Federal Marshal who pursued fearlessly and planned ruthlessly, relentlessly, both to capture her and to protect her. The clever, snarky smartass who could hold his own against her verbally, the uninhibited wildman who could keep her eyes rolling back in the bedroom, the ice-cold strategist who could plot and maneuver against her to keep life interesting in pursuit, the secret romantic who kissed her hand and stole her heart, and the unexpected partner who simply let her be herself were all there before her.

_How can I not Love him? _She sighed, nibbled at the cuticle on her thumb. _He's not perfect. I'm not fool enough to believe that, and anyway, that sort of knight-in-shining armor shit always bored me to tears. I can rescue myself down out of any towers that come along, thank you very much. _She smirked at the image of herself swinging a sword, remembering his words on that first fateful encounter._ Whatever he is, though, he's for me. I mean to keep him. Oh, Marshall, I hope you're ready for this._

---

Marshall was ready to get the hell away from death. He was soul-sick, disgusted. The crime scene had been appalling, just as he'd known it would be. The police had established the time of death, and by doing some quick calculations in his head, Marshall had realized that Raphael had been raping, torturing, and killing this helpless woman at about the same time he and Mary had been making love by the pool. It infuriated him, filled him with a need to strike out, to purify that time they'd had by removing the source of the taint.

_I will not attach this ugliness to that beauty. I will not. I will not let Ramirez sully any part of what Mary and I have. _He sighed heavily. _But Mary's going to do that math, too...._

He wove through the streets of Vegas, headed for a meeting with a member of his team. His mind was racing with details, with the gruesomeness of the carnage he'd just seen.

_I don't know how many more of these Marys I can see before I go out and hunt this bastard myself. Seeing the photos was bad enough, but having to walk into that room and see that one bound on the bed, see those wings cut into her, and know that the whole time he did it, he was doing it to my Mary in his head.... _Marshall's hands tightened around the steering wheel of the truck he was driving, and he shifted in the seat, longing for some target finally to present itself. _I'd give anything to have gotten my hands on him back in Mississippi, to have been able to have ripped his throat out with my bare hands...._

Occupied as he was with his worries, his plans, and the edge of revenge underlying it all, he was unaware of the black Tahoe that cautiously followed him from a distance, just far enough away not to trigger his instincts, but close enough not to lose him. It had been with him since the Phoenix Dream that morning....

---

Mary and John Patrick were going to have lunch together. He graciously told her to pick her favorite restaurant, and without any hesitation at all, she picked an interesting little Japanese place with a variety of dishes, including green tea soft serve ice cream for dessert. J.P. laughed.

"You're not fooling me. You're only going there for the dessert."

She smiled and shrugged. "Well, I was in the mood for katsudonburi or some mixed tempura, too, but yeah, mostly I'm jonesing for the ice cream."

"Well, call your young man, and see if he'd like to join us, why don't you?"

"What makes you think he's my young man? Haven't seen my name on him anywhere..." Mary smiled, her very best poker face slamming down over her expression suddenly.

J.P. looked at her, a matching expression appearing right down to the cat-smile curving the lips. "Ah, Mary, are we going to have to play this game? I taught you this game, remember?" His tone was gentle.

The mask fell away and he saw the underlying uncertainty. "Drop it, J.P. Now is not the time, okay? It's still too...new."

J.P. realized how deep his niece's feelings were for the Marshal, and he sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn't have to kill him for hurting her. He did, actually, like Marshall quite a bit.

"Okay, then, if that's the way of it. Let's go get some lunch then, shall we? I need to take care of one thing in my office and then we can be off."

She smiled, rolled her eyes. "I know how that goes. Your "one thing in the office" will take thirty minutes. I will just call him to tell him I'm going with you, then. I told him I would let him know if we were leaving the hotel." J.P. laughed at her assessment of his work ethic, and he went to his desk.

Mary reached for her cell in her jacket pocket, but it wasn't there. She went to the entertainment area and looked around the chair where she'd sat, couldn't find it anywhere. _Must have left the damn thing in my room. Shit. Bet he's tried to call me a dozen times or something, too...._

She headed for the door to the office, already pulling the key out of her pocket. She stuck her head around the door, saw him already immersed in his paperwork and said, "J.P., I can't find my phone. I have to go back downstairs and look in my room for it. I must have left it in the room. Just call me or come down when you get ready to go, okay?"

He waved a hand absently, and said, "Yeah. I promise not to be long."

She smiled indulgently at his distraction, let herself out of the penthouse office, and headed for the elevator.

---

Marshall's phone rang as he was changing lanes heading to the Federal headquarters in Las Vegas. He glanced at the caller ID and saw Mary's number. He answered it already distracted, mentally cursing the driver who suddenly shifted over two lanes without giving a proper signal to cut him off, causing Marshall to have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him.

"Mary? Hello?" He knew his voice carried irritation, but he wasn't able to get rid of it completely.

What he heard on the other end chilled him completely. A voice was sobbing, pleading brokenly, "Please, please help me. Please help me. You have to...you have to...Please make him stop it. No. No! No!" The voice dissolved into helpless tears and crying.

He swerved to the side of the road, slamming on his own brakes, ignoring the horns of the other drivers who had to do some fancy driving of their own to miss him. "Mary! Mary!" He yelled into the phone. "Where are you? What's going on!"

He continued to hear the sound of weeping and it quickly escalated into hysteria, into a scream as he listened. Then there was the sound of a male voice, one he knew all too well, one he heard in nightmares, one he'd last heard in real-life during a hellish storm in a darkened house in Mississippi: Ramirez.

Raph said, "Mary and I are having such a loving reunion, but she longs for you to join us. I cannot deny my heart anything she asks for. Can you? Can you, cabron?" On the last words, Marshall heard his control breaking, shaking.

"Where are you? All you have to do is tell me, and I'll be there. Don't hurt her. I'm the one to blame for all this, not her."

"Oh, don't worry. I will take very good care of her until you get here," crooned Ramirez, and the whimpering on the other end of the phone made Marshall's heart pound in fear as Raph gave him directions to a motel on the outskirts of town. He finished writing the directions and was already pulling back out into traffic with his flashers on when Ramirez delivered the coup de grace.

"And Marshall," said Raph, "really. Remember your manners. Don't bring uninvited guests and don't keep a lady waiting. Otherwise...." Marshall heard a scream and the phone connection dropped.

He dialed her number again, praying for some kind of trick or mistake, but it went directly to voice mail. "Shit. Shit!"

He dialed John Patrick's private office number praying he was still in as he'd said he was going to be, and he floored the truck. He didn't see that the Tahoe had pulled off with him, and was now keeping pace behind him as he sped across town toward the location Raph had indicated.

---

J.P. was finishing up the last of the business that had demanded immediate attention. He had just hung up the phone and was signing the last of the documents to send out by express mail when his phone rang again. He grabbed it and brought it to his ear, eyes still on the paperwork. It had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Mary was going to be irritated with him...

As Marshall's harried voice filled his ear, the fountain pen he was signing with slid out of his hand and spattered ink all over the contract.

Minutes later, J.P. burst through the door of his office, eyes wild, saying to the men on either side, "Lock down the hotel. Go downstairs and find Mary, now. Move dammit! Move...."

---

Marshall was torn between waiting for Shannon to get back to him and racing to the address Ramirez had given him. The sounds of that voice on the phone pleading kept coming back to him....

_But Shannon swears she was just in the hotel. This feels wrong. And why wouldn't Mary call out for me? Or J.P.? _His analytical mind was moving past the shock and panic and was beginning to turn the pieces over, to sort for patterns, to sift out the bits that didn't belong. He slowed down a little. _Going to have to wait for that call from Shannon. Something is just wrong here. Mary. Come on. You have to be okay. I cannot bear it if you're not okay...._

_---_

J.P. was flying down the stairs. He and his men had not waited for an elevator, instead, going directly down a "fire exit" that was a part of the executive penthouse. It had been used in many emergencies and exits that had nothing whatsoever to do with fires....

When he hit the ninth floor, one of his men had already keyed the door open, and he never even broke stride. His men swept down the hall before and after him toward 978, and their hands were on their weapons, their eyes looking for any target that presented itself. J.P.'s heart simply stopped as he approached the door to the room and saw it standing open just a millimeter.

_No. NO. God, no. I will hunt him, flay him, salt the wounds, and howl as I send him into hell. I will rip the still-beating heart from his chest and shove it down his throat, laugh in glee as he drowns in blood. There is nowhere, anywhere that I won't have my revenge.... Mary...Mary...._

Then the door opened on its own and she stood there in front of him, puzzled, then alarmed as she saw the men, the weapons, the fear on his face. "J.P.? What is it? Oh my God, what's happened?"

He wrapped his arms around her, drew her to his chest in an embrace, aware he was shaking, unable for the moment to do more than just hold her to him. _Mary. Mary. My precious child...._

---

Marshall's phone rang, and he answered it, took a side-turning onto a deserted street headed out of town. His heart soared with relief as he heard Shannon's voice, then Mary's. _Thank God. Thank God she's... I can breathe again, think again. If he had harmed her, I could not have borne it, could not have gone sanely on...._ He could see it in his mind, the path he would have taken, the death he would have happily brought to Ramirez, then his own inevitable slow decline without the vibrant woman who wore wings....

He ran his hand over his face. _I knew it. What sort of sick fucking game is this? He had to know we'd catch him in it. This was too sloppy. _

But there was that other voice who was screaming. Marshall had called it in, and he had to update the local cops and the Marshal service. He got off the phone with Mary and J.P., and he dialed the Vegas P.D. to fill them in. They agreed to converge on the location and told Marshall to head back to the Phoenix Dream. He pulled off on the side of the dusty deserted road to make the U-turn, and he waited for the solitary vehicle coming from behind him to pass him so he could head back to town.

The black Tahoe was moving fast. His law enforcement mind absently registered that it had to be doing at least sixty in a forty-five zone, but he was already worrying the puzzle of Raph's intentions with this latest incident and he wasn't paying much attention.

That's why when the Tahoe suddenly slammed on its brakes and hit his truck from behind he was caught totally unprepared.

---

Marshall was dazed, stunned by the force of the impact. His head had hit the steering wheel since the collision had not been of a type that had caused the airbag to deploy. He was aware of the glass of the driver's side door being broken out, aware of it being unlocked and opened, and then he was being dragged out brutally, half carried, half pulled to the Tahoe, which, thanks to the heavy welded steel grate across its front bore surprisingly little damage. Marshall was unceremoniously thrown into the back, and he began to recover enough to struggle weakly.

A crushing blow struck Marshall on the back of the head, and he crumpled unconscious. The hands that had tossed him into the back of the vehicle secured his hands and feet with nylon rope and then paused a moment before they divested him of his gun, phone, and badge. Then the back gate of the Tahoe slammed shut and the driver went around, got in, and pulled away driving a sedate forty-five miles per hour. He looked at himself in the mirror, pushed back a strand or two of black hair that had become untidily disarranged, and switched on the radio to sing along.

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**R&R folks. What else is there to say? (And yes, some of the mysteries of this chapter will be explained in upcoming ones...)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Still got your safety belts fastened? Hands and feet should remain inside the car until the ride comes to a complete stop, please, for your protection....

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A trembling in the bones may carry a more convincing testimony than the dry documented deductions of the brain.

~Llewelyn Powers

Scars are tattoos with better stories.

~From a Toyota advertisement in Sports Illustrated magazine, 3 June 2002

* * *

Mary was opening drawers and looking around her in confusion. She'd been tearing the room apart for a good long while now. _Where the fuck is that phone? I don't understand how objects just disappear like that. _ She went into the entertainment area again and looked there, lifting couch cushions, bending down to look under the furniture, but no BlackBerry yielded itself to her search.

_Damn, damn, damn. I know I'm not overly careful with those things, but still... Okay. Think. When was the last time you had it. _

She remembered slipping it in her small bag when she and Marshall had headed out to the club the night before, but of course she'd had other things on her mind when they'd come back, so she'd simply tossed the small beaded clutch in the chair when they'd come back and proceeded with the steps necessary to ambush Marshall while he was in the shower. She crossed the room and grabbed the little shimmery bag and opened it. No phone.

_Did I lose the damn thing, then? I don't remember getting it out of this, and surely I would remember that. I didn't think to get it when we got that call about going to see the body. It was too early and there was too much else going on. I grabbed the knife, but I didn't think about the phone..._

She threw the little purse down on the chair again in disgust, ran her hand over her hair in disgust, and headed for the door, opening it. _Wait. There's one more place to look..._

She was crossing the room to check Marshall's jacket from last night on the off, odd chance that it might have gotten put in his pocket for some stupid reason when she heard the sound of running feet heading for her room.

---

Now she and John Patrick were in his office upstairs waiting for Marshall to return. Her eyes strayed to the clock on J.P.'s desk for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. _He should have been back by now. It's been two hours. _She got up to pace. The whole encounter, the strangeness of Raph's botched plan had her nerves jangling. _It's more than that,_ she thought. _My_ _instinct is going insane. Something is very, very wrong. He should be here by now. It's not my paranoia. _

She turned, said to J.P., "I need to use your phone."

J.P. handed her his cell without comment. She dialed Marshall's number. It rang four times and went to voice mail. Her instincts shrilled louder, clamoring at her to do something to remedy this problem. _What problem? You're hell on wheels at giving me the warnings, but you're not telling me what the actual situation is! _She redialed, and again was routed to voice mail. She growled in frustration.

"J.P., something is wrong. Marshall should have been back by now. Do you know where he was when he called? Did he say?"

John Patrick looked at her with a steady golden gaze. "Yes. He gave me the general location."

"Well?"

"I'll send some people."

"Like hell. Tell me and I'll go myself. Marshall's in trouble, and I need to go, John Patrick."

"How do you know that he's in trouble? How do you know his cell battery hasn't died? How do you know he hasn't gotten out to get gas, go to the bathroom, something, anything other than a life-or-death crisis, Mary?"

She just looked at him. "You know how I know, J.P. The same way you'd know. The same way we've both stayed alive all these years when so many people would rather us both be otherwise."

He broke the stare, looked down at his desk. "Damn it, Mary. I can't let you go alone. Won't. This could all be a trap from Ramirez. That's what _my_ instincts are telling me, that this is somehow designed to get you outside the safety of my care."

She walked over and laid her hand gently over his. "I have to do this, J.P. You asked me earlier how I feel about him." She took a deep breath. "I....I think I love him." J.P.'s eyes flashed back up to hers and he searched hers for some answer he needed. "I have to go if he's in trouble, and I believe he is. It will be okay, J.P. After all, you're the one who taught me how to take care of myself, right?"

_Oh, little girl. Well, then, what can I say to that? _A bittersweet smile spread, and he hugged her tightly. "You'll take one of the men with you when you go and for this, I'm going to outfit you properly. A knife just won't, you should pardon the pun, quite cut it no matter how grand a blade it is."

Thirty minutes later, she and one of her uncle's men, Randolph, were sliding out of the hotel garage in the Charger, heading for the last-known location of Marshall Mann.

J.P. was in his office upstairs on the phone. It was time to employ more drastic measures to ensure her safety.

---

When she arrived at the dusty, seldom-traveled road, a police car was already pulled up next to the wreck and a tow-truck was just arriving. The damage to the truck Marshall had been driving stopped her heart. She skidded the Charger to a stop behind the police car and was out of the car and moving while her uncle's man was still trying to undo his seatbelt. She raced toward the crumpled vehicle only to be physically stopped by the uniformed officer on the scene.

"M'aam, I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

"Where's the driver? Was he injured? Where did you take him?" She struggled to get past the officer, to get to the truck. She could see spatters of blood on the glass on the ground, horrible diamonds and rubies glittering in the sun.

"Do you know the driver of this vehicle m'aam?"

Randolph had appeared, and she felt his strong hands wrap around her, pull her back from the policeman. "The driver was a close personal friend of Ms. Shannon's, officer. He was a law enforcement officer as well. Can you tell us where he's been taken for treatment?" His tone was polite, calm, ultra-rational. Mary was gnashing her teeth and just before decking somebody to get the information she wanted.

"Law enforcement, huh? What branch?" The cop looked mildly intrigued by this new, interesting twist on things.

"Oh my God! You are so missing the freaking point! Where the hell is he? I see blood on the damn ground! Where is Marshall?" She lunged a little.

Randolph squeezed lightly, a warning, but she was growing frantic, furious, and exasperated with these male idiots she seemed to be surrounded with at all times lately. "He's with the U.S. Marshal service. Again sir. Could you tell us where he is?"

"Federal Marshal, huh? Well, I'll be. See, that's the thing. There wasn't no driver in this vehicle when it was found. Somebody called it in as wrecked and abandoned. We just got out here a little while ago to start the investigation. I was just gonna start running the plates when you two showed up."

_He wasn't here? Where the hell is he? Is he hurt and wandering? What's happened to Marshall?_

Randolph's phone trilled, and he turned away to answer it. A moment later, he grabbed Mary's arm, had produced a business card to hand to the policeman. "Sir, Mr. John Patrick Shannon would take it very much as a personal favor it you would keep him updated on the status of this investigation. You should call the U.S. Marshal service as soon as possible about this wreck since it involves one of their officers who is now missing, a Marshal Marshall Mann. We have to leave. There is a family emergency. Ms. Shannon, come now." He looked her in the eyes with a speaking glance, and the two turned and were in the car before the befuddled cop could stop them.

Mary had the Charger flying toward the Phoenix Dream using its interceptor capabilities before she could bring herself to ask. She knew it was going to be bad whatever it was. She forced herself to guide the sleek car through tight openings in the traffic, shifting, braking, weaving as if their lives depended on it. Randolph sat silently, waiting.

Finally, she hit an open stretch, glanced at him, said, "Tell me, then, dammit."

"Mr. Shannon said a package had been delivered and that our presence was required immediately. He did not say more than that, Ms. Shannon." He paused a beat, looked over at her, and she saw genuine sympathy in his eyes.

Her hands tightened down on the wheel, she shifted gears again, and the Hemi roared.

---

They took the express elevator up. It required a special key card that none but the family and a few select staff had access to, but it flew upward to the executive suite at a speed that made some people sick at their stomachs. For Mary on that day, it felt as though it was being handcranked by apathetic and sleepy monks in some medieval monastery.

Randolph was a solid silent presence beside her, but she was alone in her own thoughts. _Come on, come on, dammit. Faster, faster. I have to know. If he's...if he's.... I cannot even think the word. He cannot be. I would know it, wouldn't I? Fucking Raphael. It has to be him. I will kill him for this._

The elevator opened in the lobby of the executive penthouse, and Mary and Randolph stepped out into chaos. The room was filled with men and women in U.S. Marshal jackets and badges and John Patrick's own men and women who were milling around tables, charts, maps, and arguing loudly. This, then, was a full-blown, war-room, crisis situation. As she passed through the crowd, John Patrick's people quieted, and faded away, seemed to find other places to be, went into the other room. The Federal people didn't seem to notice at first, but as the noise level dropped, they began to notice, too.

John Patrick met her halfway across the room. He took her hands in his own and squeezed them, eyes searching hers, said nothing.

_Oh, well, then it's very, very bad. Very very fucking bad indeed._

He guided her to a table at the front where three objects lay in the heavy, neatly labeled, clear plastic bags she'd seen used for evidence at crime scenes so many times already._ It's funny what becomes old hat, isn't it? _The thought floated absently through her mind as she saw the objects for the first time. Her heart clenched.

In one of the bags was the round gold Marshal service badge Marshall wore with such pride and dedication, the symbol of who and what he was. It had been hammered, battered and twisted, and worst of all, it was coated with a reddish-brown substance that she was horribly, horribly afraid was dried blood.

The second bag held a lock of hair tied together with red thread as if it were an old-fashioned lover's gift, but it had not been cut off. It had torn out by the root, a small but viciously-inflicted pain, and Mary's eyes filled with tears of frustration and hurt as she recognized the texture and color of it. _How many times have I run my fingers through that hair? Stroked it? _She touched her fingertips to the lock through the plastic lightly.

The last bag held only paper, but somehow Mary dreaded it most, forced herself to lift it and look. Inside was the letter she expected but also two pictures that made her cry out, fumble the bag, have to take it up again.

John Patrick's hands on her shoulders braced gently, encouragingly, and she looked at the photos more carefully. In them Marshall was naked to the waist, bound facedown to a metal-frame twin bed in a position with which she was all-too familiar. His face was bruised and battered, bloody. Other marks darkened the skin of his ribs. Horribly, on his back, she saw in the first photo his battered badge lying on the unblemished skin just below his nape. In the second, she saw a flowing script M cut into the flesh of his right shoulderblade, the badge again lying on his back, covered in fresh blood, and she felt the gorge rise as she understood what had been done to him, the level of horror that he'd had to endure.

_He took the symbol of what Marshall is, twisted it, perverted it, and cut my initial into Marshall's back with it. Oh God. He's going to make sure there is nothing anywhere he can look at without pain... How many strokes of this horrible tool did it take to make that? Marshall...Marshall..._

She felt the tears running down her cheeks, but she couldn't stop them. She couldn't read the letter yet, couldn't bear whatever fresh hell Raph had created with it, knew it would be for her. She steeled herself, and she lifted the bag again, unable to stop the trembling of her hands.

M –

Do you like your presents? I never know what to buy, so I decided I'd make you something instead. They do say, querida, that the best gifts are those that come from the heart rather than the stores, anyway.

You've been so naughty lately, running around with this one. And him a U.S. Marshal! Imagine my surprise when I discovered that badge. What can you be thinking, corazon? I know you like to live out there on the edge (one of the reasons I adore you), but even for you, this is a bit risky, a bit kinky.

I am going to keep your little lover here for awhile. He and I have so much to discuss, don't you think? Trade secrets to discuss, if you will. I've given him some new artwork so he won't forget you as long as he lives. Do you like it? You didn't leave any visible scars on him, but I'm sure this only matches what you've done internally.

He and I will continue to have these little artistic sessions, I think, unless you'd like to convince me to stop. If I were sure that he meant nothing to you, I would let him go. Of course, it would be very hard to convince me of this, so you would have to be very, very persuasive (but we both know you know how to do that, don't you, blanca?). When you decide that you want to come back to me, are done with this foolishness of running away, are ready to be mine again forever as you know that you must be, call me at your own cell number, and we'll make some arrangements. I must say that the Marshal probably hopes it won't take you long to make that call, Mary....

R

She threw her head back and screamed in pain and rage. _I will kill him, I will kill him, he will die...._

_---_

Marshall woke again and immediately wished for sleep to take him back under. The various indignities his body had been subjected to clamored to make themselves known, each a little louder than the last. The two most vociferous were the burning pain in his shoulder and dull throbbing ache across the back of his head where he'd been hit when he'd been knocked out. His face and his ribs were also singing, and he vaguely remembered the beatings that had prompted those aches.

He looked around him again at the dismal surroundings. He was clearly being held in some kind of outbuilding that had been fitted out for this purpose with the metal bed, and he could hear the sounds of other voices distantly, intermittently. He had seen two other faces, hired guns or members of Ramirez's organization, when the door had been opened once or twice, but he could not get any sort of idea of where he was, if he was even still near Las Vegas at all. There was no sound of traffic.

As for that fiery sword in his shoulder, he could not block the memory of Raph cutting it into him even if he tried. He shuddered involuntarily as he remembered watching the psychotic bastard taking the sledgehammer to his treasured badge, feeling each stroke of the hammer somehow a blow to his soul as the symbol of his purpose, his calling, of all he felt morally important and good in the world was warped and bent. And then, when Raph had lifted it from the concrete of the ratty floor and walked across the room toward him, testing his thumb on the edge of the battered metal, bending the pin out in delight at that it still worked, Marshall had realized that Raph had new horrors in store for him....

Raph's voice had not changed the whole time he'd been cutting into Marshall. He'd talked to him in a calm, conversational tone, friendly, even jocular, the tone of a friend or fellow brother-at-arms. He'd asked him questions about Mary, intimate things, and when Marshall had flung curses at him, Raph had come around in front of him, studied him briefly, slapped him hard enough to make Marshall see stars, but the calm demeanor had never changed. The horrible voice had told him what he was doing, had explained the symbol he was cutting as the pain had ripped along....

"So you see, my friend, I want you to have something to remember her by. I am going to give you her initial, a lovely M, for you to keep forever on your shoulder. Well, close enough to forever, eh, cabron? After all, it's not going to matter to you much longer after all, is it?" He'd patted Marshall on the head in the way one would a good dog. Marshall concentrated on blocking the pain, his bound hands in front of him fists. _Oh my God, the agony.... _Tears were running down his face, and his breath hitched with each small cutting motion Raph made.

The edge of the badge continued to cut flesh, and for a moment his tone changed, just a second when it wavered, revealed the true darkness underneath. "After all, you should get down on your fucking hands and knees and thank me that I'm letting you have even this much of her to take with you as you go after what you've already had of her, of _my_ Mary...." The metal bit deep, deep, and Marshall yelled out again. "But...really," the voice was struggling for its urbane mask, its humorous undertone, "you shouldn't be shy now. Tell me the truth. What was your favorite part about her? Come now. No secrets amongst men."

Marshall struggled to force the words past his clenched jaws, past the swirling nausea. "Go fuck yourself."

Raph smiled, a slow, predatory evil baring of teeth. "Ah, Marshall, Marshall, Marshall....that's not very gentlemanly, now is it? Maybe this letter needs some extra flourishes to finish it off. You know, I've always been known for my penmanship?"

Marshall had screamed, but there had been nobody anywhere to hear him except the insane torturer who had delighted in the sound.

---

"I'm going to call Raph. I'm going to get Marshall back. Not one of you motherfuckers is going to stop me, so you can get your hands off me and get the hell out of my way or you can all get ready to pay the consequences."

Mary had had enough. Three more hours had passed since she'd come back to the Phoenix Dream, and as far as she could see, the assembled might of the Marshal service and her uncle's men were doing nothing but chasing their own collective asses in circles. What had to be done was very, very simple. Raph had to be called. A meeting had to be arranged. She had to go. Raph had to die. The end.

One of the Marshals, one she vaguely recognized as one of Marshall's superiors who'd come in from his home office, ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "And what exactly are you going to do if Ramirez captures you, too, Ms. Shannon? You are every bit as much a target for him as Mann was. He wants both of you, and he wants both of you dead. He's trying to provoke you to come running hotheaded into this neatly-laid trap so he can slice and dice you at his leisure. If you do this the way you're proposing, we could lose you both. Is that what you want? Marshall dead? You dead?"

_No. But fuck...._

"No. But....We have to do something. I can't stand the idea of Marshall being out there in his hands, of waiting for another photograph, another object to show up. What is he going to send us this time if I don't go? What's he going to do to Marshall in my name? You have to let me call him, at least. Maybe if I just contact him, he won't hurt Marshall anymore."

J.P. and the Marshal looked at each other, and there was a brief conference. They broke apart, and J.P. came to where she was standing near the windows. He took her hands in his own. "Okay. Then let's call the bastard. Set up a meeting for tomorrow. We'll work something out for then. But Mary, really. You cannot, must not, go alone. If you do, you know he'll kill you both."

The door to the busy suite had opened as J.P. was speaking and a tall figure all in black crossed the room to stand near them. "And where would she be going alone? My girl doesn't go anywhere alone unless she wants to." Thea wrapped a supportive arm around Mary.

"Thea," Mary said, and hugged her friend. "Thank God you're here. We can use your expertise in this situation."

Thea smiled minutely over her shoulder at J.P., icy eyes meeting icy eyes. "Oh, I imagine there is more than just my collected experience that might come in handy with this.... I'm here for the duration, honey. What you need, I can provide." Thea stepped back and ran assessing eyes over Mary. "Now I believe you were about to make a phone call?"

* * *

**What else is there to say but....R&R, please.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback and the cheerful complaints. I am taking them in the spirit in which they're intended (I hope). I'm glad to be a source of tension...I think.... :)

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**

Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are. ~Arthur Golden, _Memoirs of a Geisha

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_

Marshall was vaguely aware of the musical sound of a cellphone ringtone. It pulled him from his stupor, and for a moment, he resented the intrusion because it brought him back to his suffering. Then he recognized the tone. _Mary.... _He came to instant wakefulness, struggled to figure out where the noise was coming from.

Raph crossed his field of vision, walked over to a small table in the corner of the room to lift the phone and answer it. Marshall was chilled to the bone at the side of the conversation he heard.

"Hola, corazon. You certainly took your time about calling. I was just thinking about adding to my art project. Maybe your lover would like a heart to go with the M. Pity that I sent that badge back to you. I don't know what I'll use for the next design...." His eyes cut over to look at Marshall, aware that Marshall was awake and listening.

There was a pause, and Marshall strained for any sound. He could almost hear Mary's voice he thought, but he realized that it might be wishful thinking. Raph smirked, then spoke again. "Querida, language, language.... You know I love it when you talk filthy, but perhaps this isn't the proper context. Besides, don't we have more important things to talk about? Like when you're planning to come and rejoin me?"

Marshall's heart clenched in fear. _Not that. No. Surely she's not even contemplating that. What would make her even think of coming here, getting close to this monster. She's got to be talked out of it; Shannon has got to be made to keep her out of here. _He waited breathlessly for Raph's next comment, trying desperately to figure out some way to warn Mary.

"Mmm. I see. So tomorrow then. Querida, every minute I spend without you is a lifetime. And for pobrecito here, it could literally be one if I think for even a minute that you're trying to fuck with me. The place that I'm telling you to come to? It's not where I'm holding him. Don't get any smart ideas. It's the pickup point. You won't see your sweet little Marshal until I'm sure there is nobody at our little reunion but you and me."

Another pause. _Don't agree. You have to know that I'll already be dead or you will be. Mary. You know you can't trust him. Please._ But Raph was smiling and nodding, pleased with himself and with the way things were turning out.

"Good, good. Then I'll see you tomorrow at eight, my darling. Make sure you wear something festive and lovely. What?..... You want to talk to him?...... Why ever for?...... Querida, you wound me. Have I not always kept every promise I ever made to you?..... Of course, of course....." Raph crossed the room with a threatening expression on his face, and he pressed the speakerphone button on the BlackBerry. "Say hello, then Mary. He can hear you now."

Mary's voice filled the room, tiny and with an edge of panic. "Marshall? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

Marshall swallowed, wet his swollen and split lips, and croaked out, "Mary...."

Upon hearing his response, she immediately replied, "Marshall, has he hurt you any more? Are you in pain?"

Raph's eyes were full of banked malevolence as he held the phone, but he made no move to prevent Marshall from answering how he would. Marshall forced his voice to work again and said, "Don't worry, Mary. Pain's not s'bad. Gonna be okay. You can't come here though. Gotta stay away, 'kay? Issa trap. Don't come. Please don't come."

Raph pulled the phone away and pressed the speakerphone button, holding the phone up to his own ear. He was tapping his foot in frustration. Marshall was exhausted from the effort of speaking, and he watched, knowing that his attempt to warn her was going to cost him. He could hear Mary's voice yelling through the BlackBerry, but he could not make out her words.

"Yes, yes, yes. It was very brave, very heroic. Quite worthy of that star on his badge. It's almost like he carries that damn thing around all the time, isn't it? Even stripped almost naked.... That gives me all sorts of artistic inspiration. Say goodbye, Mary. I'll see you in the morning at eight. Don't be late. Otherwise, I might have to expand my design again in my disappointment." He clicked the hangup button on the loud stream of profanity coming through the phone, and he turned to the table behind him to put it down.

His hand hesitated over several other items lying there, and he picked one up, watched the razor sharp blade of it gleam in the overhead light. He turned his head to look at Marshall over his shoulder. "You really, really need to learn when to keep those Marshal tendencies under control, my friend. It's like I told Mary, though. That star of yours will come out even when you're not wearing it. Let's help you wear it all the time, then, since it seems you just have to behave that way, eh?"

Marshall started pulling against the ropes, kicking with a strength he didn't know he had left in him, thrashing hard, but he had been tied too tightly and too well. Around the already injured flesh where the M had been carved, Raph began to incise a careful five-pointed star and circle. The pain of it made Marshall unconscious after the second point had been cut deep into his bleeding shoulder.

---

When Marshall woke again, he was alone. The room was mostly dark except for moonlight spilling in from the dusty windows of the little building, and there were no sounds of any kind. He shifted slightly and immediately wished he hadn't. Pain viciously and ruthlessly assaulted his senses. The agony from his tattered shoulder was such that he almost passed out again. He could feel the stickiness of the old, half-dried blood and the oozing of fresh joining it as his movement caused the cuts to reopen. He forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, breath rasping in his dry throat as he tried not to throw up from the pain.

Eventually the nausea passed and his body mercifully dimmed its response to his injuries to a level at which he could at least function. He drifted, watching the moonlight trace its way across the floor, slowly. His mind was like a leaf caught in a slow-moving stream, slipping into spiraling eddies for a moment before breaking free to travel onward. He tried to think of some way to escape, but mostly his mind kept circling back to Mary.

_She can't go meet him tomorrow. Can't. Can't. He'll kill her. He'll kill me. That doesn't matter so much, though. He's going to do that anyway. He's going to make her watch it, though. Going to cut my heart out of my chest and give it to her. Told me so. Showed me the knife, didn't he? Bastard. Mary can't have to watch that. So she can't go to the meeting. _

_Don't want her to see any of this. Want her to fly free. He's after her wings, she told me. She was right. She knows things. She always knows things. Bet she would have known this was coming, would have sensed it or whatever the hell it is that she does. Son of a bitch caught me not looking, got me by pressing all the right little buttons._

_Buttons. Hey. That was funny. He got me by pressing phone buttons. Tape recorder buttons. Made me believe that tape of the last girl he killed was Mary. Knew something was off...knew it... _

_Didn't do any good, though. Didn't keep me out of these ropes. Keep getting tied up lately, don't I? _He laughed, and it hurt. _Damn. Wish it was Mary instead of him that had me tied up. She would be nice about it, wouldn't hurt me. Would never...would never.... Miss her. Need her. _

He thought about the sources of his pain, the twin symbols bleeding, burning on his shoulderblade, and his mind skittered away to what they represented instead of the wounds themselves. For a moment, he contemplated the job, what it meant to him to be a Marshal. Images of his father, his mother, the photos that were at his house of five generations of U.S. Marshals seemed to appear, to come alive and stand around him, looking down at him, urging him to find some way to carry on, to get out of this situation. The figures flickered, faded in and out, were gone, replaced by one solitary figure.

_Mary...._

In his vision, she appeared just as she had when he'd last seen her, jeans, green shirt, black jacket. She smiled at him, eyes full of mischief. She tilted her head in that challenging little manner, cocked her chin, and he knew she was challenging him. He longed for the strength to meet it, to find a way to loose himself and escape.

_Am never going to get a chance to tell her things. To say all the things I should have said. Wish I could kiss her again, taste that taste of her again one more time before it's all over. And I would tell her...I would say... _He shifted again, slightly, and the pain made his head spin. _I would say, "Mary, your rat-bastard-ex-boyfriend is a fucking devil from hell and a psycho and is wrong about many, many things, but when he cut your initial and my badge into my shoulder, he chose the two things in all the universe that I love to carve into me, the two things I would fight for until I died. He did it because he thought it would break me, knock the will to keep going out of me. He was wrong."_

It came so simply to him, the admission that he loved her, as easily and as necessary to him to say it as drawing the next breath. With it came a calm, a feeling of strength, almost as if he felt her hand brush his cheek in encouragement.

Marshall lifted his head, gritted his teeth against the pain, and studied the bedframe again. In the moonlight, a tiny protruding piece of metal shone, just below his bound hands. He would have to stretch painfully to reach it, but if he did, he could just rub the ropes that held his hands together against it. He braced himself for the agony of the motion, felt the blood running in slow, hot rivulets down him again, and pressed forward. He slid his hands back and forth experimentally against the rough sliver, and felt it cut into the flesh of his hand slightly but also when he brought his hands back up before his face saw the rope had begun to fray. With a burning feeling of purpose, he pushed forward again, blocking out what of the pain he could, enduring the rest. _See, you rat-bastard...you were wrong._

_---_

Mary and Thea were in one of the bedrooms of one of the penthouse suites, all Mary and Marshall's belongings having been moved up from 978 during the long afternoon. It was late, and the two women were in sleepwear even though neither of them were even remotely sleepy. They had been talking about the upcoming day until both of them were almost worn-out with thinking of it. They'd decided at least to make an effort at rest even though sleep eluded them.

Thea couldn't help but comment. "So what the hell is going on with those? You know I'm just going to have to ask."

Mary was wearing the red flannel Santa pajama pants and one of Marshall'ssoft old t-shirts which hung off her. She had been threading the drawstrings through her fingers all night in an absent way, and at times her gaze had gone golden and intense as her reverie took her somewhere else. Now, though, she looked at Thea, a tiny little grin slipping onto her face, the first Thea had seen in hours, and the faintest of blushes appeared on her cheeks. _Interesting. Mary does not blush...._

"Would you believe me if I told you they were my dad's?"

"Fuck, no. Dish. I want details. Deeds. Dimensions. Debaucheries. All of it. Whose are these really?"

"They really do belong to my father! Or they did. Actually, I kind of stole them for Marshall while we were in Mississippi."

Thea just continued to look at her, gaze level, waiting. It would all come out in time...

"Aaaand....I might have seduced him a little while he was wearing them."

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe a lot. Maybe twice."

"And...."

"And the second time, I might have stripped for him and given him a lapdance while he was wearing these and nothing else..."

"Good God, Mary! Ho-ho Ho, indeed. And I mean you, not St. Nick."

Mary grinned evilly. "Yeah, well, I guarantee we both enjoyed opening all our presents that night."

Thea grinned back, equally full of devilment. "And did you both play with your toys like good little girls and boys?"

"Oh, Thea, you can trust me when I tell you this. There's nothing "little" about that particular boy or his toy...." Mary fell over sideways laughing as Thea threw a pillow at her.

Their laughter subsided, and Mary looked at her friend. She ran her hand over the silly red patterned material. "He's so good to me, Thea. I miss him. I can't lose him. I love him. It can't end this way." She looked up and shook her head. "I won't let it end like this. He doesn't even know."

Thea reached over and patted her hand. "It's okay, honey. It ends how you say it does, or not at all if that's what you want. No other way. And as for him not knowing how you feel? ... I wouldn't place any bets on that. Something tells me any man as smart as he is might have picked up on one or two little clues you dropped along with your clothing here and there along the way." She ducked as Mary swung the pillow toward her head, swung her own in retaliation, harmless stress release in full effect as the two bludgeoned each other with the plush non-down pillows of the Phoenix Dream bedding.

---

Marshall felt the binding on his hands loosen as the first layer of the nylon rope came free. He wanted to shout with triumph, but instead, he allowed himself a minute-long break. He carefully counted the seconds. He was growing weaker and more tired as time went by, and he wasn't certain how much longer he'd be able to continue pressing himself forward to rake the rope against the protruding bit of metal on the bedframe. He didn't know how much blood he'd lost from the wound in his shoulder, but he was feeling more than a little lightheaded.

As he rested, he worked his wrists, tried to flex them, bend them, to force the ropes to part somewhat to no avail. When he'd counted a slow sixty, he pushed forward again, the star and the initial sending fresh waves of torment down his body, and he started cutting again.

It didn't seem to take as long this time. In what seemed like minutes instead of hours, the second layer of rope parted, and he realized he could get his wrists apart. Slowly, slowly, almost whimpering with the relief and the agony of it, he began to bring his arms down by his side. The motion caused the muscles that had been cut to move and flex as he lowered his arms, and he bit his lip to stop the cries of pain.

_Got to get out of here. Got to stop Mary from meeting him, somehow. Got to get up. _

He managed to pull his arms down to his sides, and for a moment he lay still, the room spinning. Then he started trying to figure out how to loosen the bonds holding his feet.

---

He'd managed to free himself, but it had taken a monumental effort. He sat panting on the side of the twin bed and looked around him for a weapon, for a means of escape, for anything that might be useful in fending off Raph if he should return. His eyes blurred as he fought exhaustion and bloodloss as well as the darkness. He dared not try to find a light source.

Gradually, his eyes made out the table across the room. He could see the blades Raph had been using gleaming in the moon's dim illumination.

_Gonna get my hands on one of those, and when that bastard gets back, I'm going to carve something into him..._

Marshall tried to stand to get to the table, but his knees collapsed under him. He fell to the floor with a grunt and just lay there for a moment trying to regain his strength. Then he crawled across to the table. Each time he put weight on his injured shoulder, his body screamed at him to stop, to give up, to curl into a ball and wait for whatever end was coming. Only the thought of Mary coming kept him slowly putting one deliberate hand in front of another, dragging himself to the table that might as well have been across the state as across the room.

When he reached it, he pulled himself up with his hands, another exquisite pain. He looked at the objects on its surface bathed in the moonlight, trying to wrap his befuddled mind around them, assign them functions again. He ran his fingers over the blades, took a large hunting knife and stuck it in his belt. Then he saw something that made him thank all the saints there were... In his arrogance and surety of Marshall's capture, Raph had left Mary's BlackBerry lying on the table amongst the other tools of his torture. Marshall scooped it into his trembling hands like it was made of eggshell porcelain.

_Can't risk making a call...don't know if there's a guard outside. But...I just might be able to get a message out all the same..._ He pressed a few buttons, and the first smile he'd had in what felt like days crept crookedly across his bruised mouth as he saw who the last incoming call had been from....

---

It was two a.m., and Mary was sitting in one of the big chairs near the window looking out at the glittering jewels of the Vegas skyline. Thea was watching TV on the bed, but Mary couldn't bear the reruns, the old movies, the effort involved in turning her mind away from her preoccupation. She needed a moment alone, a moment of peace. All she could think about was the coming day, the confrontation with Raph, what it would take to get Marshall back safely.

_If he's even still alive.... _

_Stop it. You can't think that way. He has to be. There is no other alternative._

Thea's phone chimed softly, and Mary absently watched her check the incoming text message. Thea's eyes grew huge, and Thea slid off the bed holding the iPhone as though it were a living, dangerous thing, crossing the room to where Mary was sitting with quick steps.

"Mary, oh fuck, Mary, you have to take a look at this."

Mary's heart slowed, filled with dread. _If it's bad, I can't stand it. _She looked at the phone in Thea's hand, and her pulse was suddenly racing. "Get dressed. We have to go." She was racing to put on her own clothing when Thea's hand restrained her.

"You know as well as I do that this could be a lie, a trap, a diversion to get you out early."

"It's not. I know it. Look at it! Thea, we have to take the chance."

The text message had held a set of GPS coordinates with one word under them: marshall.

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**Are you still with me? Don't burn out yet! Let me know what you think....**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:Sorry for the delay everyone. I haven't felt much like writing lately. It was safer to wait until that phase passed or the ending of this whole thing would not have been satisfactory to anyone concerned. I hope you enjoy this next installment.**

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Better a thousand times careful than once dead. ~Proverb

Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense. ~Mark Overby

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Thea grabbed Mary's arm as she was racing for the closet. Thea's face was suddenly the face of a stranger, her eyes cold and deadly.

"Mary, I'm serious. You cannot just run off into the darkness because of one text message. That is how fools behave. You know what happens to fools, don't you? People find their bodies decomposing somewhere, throats slit or a bullet behind the ear. I have never been a fool, Mary, and I'm not going to start being one tonight. Neither are you. You need to slow down a minute."

Mary bared her teeth, pulled at the restraint. She could not explain exactly how she knew that the text was true any more than she could explain the mechanism by which her body turned oxygen into carbon dioxide. It was beyond her vocabulary. It just _was_. She did not, at present, have time to convince her friend that some things rang true as silver and other things were instinctively hollow and false to her.

"Thea, he doesn't have minutes. That's the problem. If he found a way to send that message somehow, we have to get to him now before Raph finds out."

"Yeah, that's my whole point. If. How the hell did your boy get to a phone, much less, apparently yours? And get GPS coordinates? I mean, come on. This doesn't seem at all contrived to you?"

Mary struggled for patience. Thea was a survivor, much as she was, maybe even more so, given her choice of profession. These were, after all, valid questions, ones that she herself would be asking if their places were reversed, if her own instincts weren't screaming at her to fly to the location indicated on the tiny screen. Clearly, more proof was needed.

"What if I could prove it was him?"

"And how would you do that?" Thea released her arm, tilted her head sideways, a sign that she was considering it, now.

"I would text him back a question I know only he would know the answer to, wait for his response. It would at least verify the coordinates."

Thea stared down at the floor for a moment, completely still. Mary knew she was running strategies and counterstrategies in that chess-master's mind of hers. She looked up again. "Do it."

Mary grabbed the iPhone and thought briefly about her question. She looked around the room, searching for inspiration, something only the two of them would know. Then she glanced down.... Her lips curved, and she began to create the text.

---

Marshall was sitting in the corner of the darkened shed, leaning back against the wall awkwardly against one shoulder. Two of the wickedest knives from Raph's collection of toys lay beside him. He had found his discarded shirt on the floor and cut it up to make a bandage of sorts to tie around his chest and wounded shoulder. Even with the padding of the shirt bandage protecting the wounds, he could not bear any pressure on them.

He had also found a dusty case of bottled water on some shelves, and two empty bottles lay at his feet. He was pacing himself on sipping a third, trying not to bolt it down as his body was demanding, knowing that sickness was a sure result of that. Rehydrating his battered body had helped to clear his mind somewhat, and he felt less prone to drift, to wander in a daze.

He'd knelt unsteadily and shuffled away from where he was planning to sit before using two of the bottles of water to wash away some of the blood from his face and back before he'd done his bandaging in an effort to clean the wounds somewhat, using the remnants of his shirt after cutting it up for the bandage to wipe his face clean. The amount of blood and filth that had sluiced down him onto the concrete floor in the pale moonlight had been disturbing, the liquid looking almost black as it ran toward the little circular drain grate embedded there....

Now, sitting, he considered again the tools at his disposal. Mary's BlackBerry was also among the items in his little hoard, but so far it had remained silent and dark after he had sent his text. He had begun to wonder, despite what the device said, if the message had really sent at all or if it had been lost in the great abyss of cyberspace....

Suddenly, the BlackBerry vibrated, the screen illuminating. He grabbed it eagerly, opened the incoming text message and read it with a mixture of frustration, amusement, and pride.

**_Can't hare off into darkness w/o some proof is you. Which pr of yr flannel pants are my favorites? – M_**

_That's my girl. Be a little cautious. At least maybe you won't wind up like this, then. Good for you. But what a damn safety question...._ He sighed and he sent his thumbs flying over the tiny keyboard to reply. A tiny smile flickered as he typed and sent it. It soon faded, though, and he sighed again in the uncomfortable darkness.

_Please, Mary. Hurry._

_---_

The iPhone chimed softly in Mary's hand, and she opened the message instantly. Thea peered over her shoulder, eager as she to see the answer to the question. They read the response.

_**Have red waterskiing Santas w/ elves in swimsuits & Rudolph driving the boat. Are my favorites, too, now, btw. As for why, come get me, & I'll be happy to show you. – M**_

Mary turned triumphant eyes to Thea. "It's him. I knew it. Nobody but him knows about these. Nobody but him has ever even seen them." Her hand fisted on the soft red fabric still draping her legs.

Thea looked at her a long moment, making a decision. "Okay. We're going. But we're doing it my way. No arguments. No innovations. This is my op, or we're not going at all. Do you understand me?"

Mary felt relief rush through her. Now, finally, they could go get him. She would have agreed to anything just to get out the door. "I understand completely. Just tell me what to do."

Thea walked over to a large black ballistic nylon bag of gear lifted it, tossed it on the bed. "Open that, and put that vest on once you've got your regular clothing on. Dress in the darkest colors you've got, black pants, dark top. I need to get a few other things ready." She turned to take up a large hard case from under the bed, flipped the latches on it, and opened the top, reverently revealing the tools of her deadly trade.

---

Getting out of the hotel unnoticed had not been easy. J.P.'s men were, as Thea had so colorfully put it, "as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs," and getting to the stairwell to slide out past them, particularly with Thea's arsenal, had involved some quick thinking. Mary had made a minor distraction for Thea to sneak her gear into the stairwell by going out and fussing with the two men by the elevator telling them that she wanted to go downstairs and take a walk to clear her head. She'd stormed back into the room after they had refused to let her go, relenting in her battle only after seeing Thea go back to their room and give her the thumbs-up sign.

About thirty minutes later, there was a tremendous crash out in the hall as a room service cart tipped over coming off the elevators. The two women had silently slipped down the hall to the stairwell and down three flights to catch the elevator down to the parking garage. The young man driving the room service cart apologized profusely to the two guards who had come running at the noise, and while he was helping housekeeping mop up the tomatoey mess, he was silently congratulating himself on the easiest fifty dollars he'd ever earned. Yes, doing business with Ms. Shannon was surely a pleasure.

Now, the Charger cut through the night, Mary's sure hands guiding it through the empty streets and out onto the highway. Thea held the GPS system, giving directions about turns. Other than these few brief comments, neither woman spoke. Their thoughts were focused on the task ahead. According to the GPS system, their destination lay outside Las Vegas proper, toward the smaller Boulder City.

Mary's thoughts were racing. "You know, J.P. has a small resort in development in Boulder City, a hotel and golf course sort of thing. Construction on it has recently been stopped due to some kind of hold-up with materials. There hasn't been a crew working in about two weeks. I heard J.P. complaining to somebody on the phone about it last week."

Thea looked up from the GPS. "Which side? East or west? Do you know?"

Mary thought about it. She'd only heard J.P. talking about it once or twice, and she'd never been to the property.... "East."

"Bingo. I bet you a million dollars that's where that bastard took your man. Hasn't he been killing these people on J.P.'s property, anyway? These GPS coordinates line up with a place on the east side of Boulder City. Ten to one that's your uncle's new project."

Mary punched the accelerator, glanced at the road sign. Fifteen miles to Boulder City.

---

The GPS led them through Boulder City. It was a quiet, peaceful-looking place, charming, really, after the flash and glitz of Las Vegas. Mary looked at it a little longingly. _This is not the place for this to happen...._

Outside the city, they came to the edges of a construction site and Thea told her to pull off on a small sideroad. Mary pulled the Charger in, killed the engine. Both she and Thea sat for a minute contemplating the large green and white sign just they'd passed a mile back, "Shannon Enterprises – Rising Phoenix Golf Course and Hotel – Coming Soon."

Thea switched off the GPS unit, put it in the center console. "Here we go, then. Do you remember what I told you? There can be no hesitation, no half-measures." Thea looked at her friend, and she couldn't help, for a moment, but be aware that this was the same woman she had been swinging pillows at earlier, had known all her life. _Now I'm telling her how to kill...._

Mary took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, unfastened her seatbelt, opened them and looked at Thea before nodding. "Yes. I remember." _For him I can do this. For him I can be whatever I have to be. _"Let's go."

She flipped a switch, and when they opened the car doors, no lights came on inside. They moved around to the trunk and with small flashlights removed what they needed from Thea's gear bags. Once they were equipped to Thea's demanding specifications, they slipped through the sheltering trees and onto the property back toward the low buildings that could be seen in the distance.

---

Marshall was so tired. He pulled himself from the light doze into which he'd fallen with a sharp jerk that caused the various wounds and aches of his body to complain loudly. _Dammit. Move slowly...slowly._ He gritted his teeth until the pain dimmed somewhat and then shifted himself to try to find a more comfortable position. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake, harder and harder to fight the damage that had been done to him....

_How much time has passed? How long was I out? I can't sleep. He might come back if I sleep. He can't catch me unaware....can't take it if he catches me again....He's going to have to kill me this time rather than...more of....**that**.....More of using me as a tool to get Mary...._

He was reaching for the BlackBerry to check the time when he heard the sound of a scuffle outside, a thud, a groan, feet scrabbling, and then the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. The door to the shed opened, and he saw a shape silhouetted in the moonlight. He prepared himself to push up, to attack, prepared himself to go past the pain for survival, when the glint of golden hair and the familiar shape of the beautiful woman standing there stopped him.

"Mary?" His voice, unused for so long, broke on her name.

The figure in the doorway turned toward him, stepped lightly in, seemed almost to dance toward him, and in moments, she was kneeling beside him. He reached a hand for her, and it trembled as it gently, gently caressed the lines of her face. The moonlight coming through the window illuminated her fully now, making her gold and silver before him. He did not miss the fact that strands of her hair had been pulled out of its ponytail or that she was holding the foot-long blade she preferred above all others in her hand. He could see the dark stain of too-much blood running down that shimmering silver blade, over her pale hand, could see that her bloodstained hand shook ever-so-slightly, and he knew that she had crossed a line in coming for him tonight. Something fierce bloomed in his heart for her.

"Are you a Valkyrie, then? They say they come to take the fallen warriors off the field and into paradise..." His voice was unsteady. His eyes searched hers, part of him unable to believe she was really here in this place of pain and horror, that his hand was actually tracing the beloved curve of her cheek again.

She leaned in carefully and kissed him. It was soft out of respect to his battered mouth, brief because she was mindful of the situation they were in, but it was full of emotion that made his heart soar in recognition. She brought her hand up to touch the bandage on his shoulder gently, lightly, no more than a press of the fingertips, and then she leaned away, mouth twisting into that smile he knew so well. "Like you'd rank sexy warrior-women angels and paradise, Marshall. Now get your ass up off that floor. We have to get out of here right now before more of your little friends come calling. Thea isn't going to be able to keep that party out there going forever."

She scooped up the BlackBerry and put it in a pocket, looked briefly at the knives on the floor, shrugged that philosophical shrug of hers and grabbed up one of the long, wicked blades in its sheath to stick in her boot, and then slid a gentle arm under Marshall to help him struggle to a standing position. Together they left the little shed and stepped out into the moonlight. Neither of them so much as looked at the body bleeding to the left of the door as they began their slow, staggering progress back toward the place Mary had agreed to rendezvous with Thea.

---

Thea, meanwhile, was doing what she did best, and death reigned supreme. She had guns, but guns, let's face it, were inelegant. Useful, certainly, appropriate much of the time, but messy, loud, and for close work of the kind she was doing tonight, just a bit declasse. _Besides, for what these sons-of-bitches have cost my friend, cost that Marshal, I feel like getting up close and personal tonight.... _She slid out of the darkness behind one of the sentries Raph had placed, stepped closer to him with two gliding strides, slipped a razor wire garrotte around his neck, and within thirty seconds was dropping his corpse and melding back into the shadows. He was not her ultimate prey tonight. He had just been in the way.

Where was Raph? She wanted very, very much to find him before he found Mary and Marshall or before Mary took it upon herself to go find him. Thea loved Mary dearly, was constantly amazed by her passion and the strength she had to overcome. However, this particular task, the destruction of a monster, was not something that Mary was equipped to do. A smirk flickered over the mask of Thea's face briefly, disappeared. _Whereas I, on the other hand, am uniquely qualified.... _

Thea's mind traced lightning fast over those qualifications, over the early interest in martial arts caused by life in a hard neighborhood that had ultimately lead to military special forces, then to selection for secret covert ops, over the subsequent specializations and operations, training and indoctrinations that had honed her, hardened her into the thin, sharp deadly blade she was now. _Maybe it isn't the life for everyone, _she mused, coiling the garrotte and stowing it,_ but there is, as Polonius says, a method to this madness most days. It lets me keep those I love safe, most of the time without their ever even knowing anything about it._

She reached down and loosened a black-bladed knife in the sheath on her waist and moved toward the vague movement she saw down the moonlit path. _Next...._

_---_

Marshall was panting with the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. The path through the trees was uneven, but the ground was clear. His head was spinning slightly and each step he took supported by Mary sent a jolt of pain through his injured shoulder and through his aching ribs. _Got to keep moving. Can't....can't...stop...._

Of course, the thought had no sooner floated through his hazy mind than the toe of his boot caught a protruding root and he lurched forward, torn from Mary's clutching hands to tumble to the ground, skinning his hands in the process as he tried to catch himself instinctively. He cried out as his shoulder took the weight of his upper body.

Instantly, Mary heard voices behind them raised, calling out to one another.

"Oh, shit," she hissed, grabbing Marshall around the waist to pull him up. He groaned softly, and she winced at causing him pain, but there was no time to be delicate. "Come on. I think they heard that, and if they did, we've got to book it."

He threw his good arm around her shoulders again, and they set off again, moving faster, ears straining for the sounds of pursuit. In the distance, they heard the voices again, yelling now in alarm, coming from the direction of the shed.

"Think they might have discovered the...my... what I did," Mary said between breaths. "Guess they're not going to be to happy about that, huh?"

"Yeah, probably not," Marshall managed.

Mary turned to look over her shoulder, and at the head of the path, she could see flashlight beams, two of them peeling off to start down after them, two of them heading in another direction. _Is Raph holding one of those lights? Damn, damn, damn...._

She shifted her grip slightly on Marshall and they hurried on.

---

Thea heard the commotion toward the shed, and she changed the arc of her path aware that Mary would need her. She came out of the woods just behind the two men who were picking their way down the path, cutting their flashlights right and left, searching, she knew, for any sign of Marshall or Mary.

_This, then, is a gun job. Damn. I don't have time to be elaborate, to be subtle. _She shrugged. _You win some, you lose some. And you, my fine little gentlemen, _she drew the combat model Glock from the holster behind her, checked the silencer, took her stance in a motion that was as natural as taking a breath, _you have definitely just lost. _She fired four times, two precise bullets to the head for each. It wasn't necessary, that second shot, but she believed in being thorough.

Mary looked behind her again, saw the flashlights disappear, and thought, _Thea. _She continued to struggle toward the car.

Thea switched off the flashlights,and then headed down the path behind Mary and Marshall, slipping back into the trees to cover their retreat.

---

Mary emerged from the treeline, more relieved than she could say to see the dim gleam of the Charger ahead of her. Marshall was increasingly leaning against her as his limited strength expired.

"Just a little farther, Marshall. We're almost there," she encouraged him.

He looked up, saw the car, and seemed to take strength from the nearness of escape. He pulled himself up, and they readied themselves to cover the final distance.

Just as they began to cross the open space, from the trees on the other side emerged two men holding flashlights and guns.

"Shit," hissed Mary, and she and Marshall froze, looking around for a place to hide. They turned and as quickly as possible stumbled back toward the trees. A voice they both knew all too well floated across the empty space behind them, getting closer and closer....

"Ah, good, so we've caught up to you at last. I was so worried that I wouldn't be the one to find you, querida. You know some of my men lack a gentle touch with such things, and I wouldn't for all the world have anybody lay a finger on you except me."

Raph's silky, insane laughter filtered through the trees. Mary and Marshall hurried deeper into the cover provided by them, pressed themselves against the thick boles, panting, staring at each other as each of them furiously tried to figure a way out of this new and unexpected situation. They dared not run. They couldn't move fast enough, anyway. They had no weapons capable of making a defense against a gun. Maybe if they were quiet and still, they could avoid detection long enough to sneak past them....

Marshall pulled Mary tightly against him, embraced her, buried his face in her hair. She wrapped her arms around him as firmly as she dared, careful to avoid what seemed to cause him the most pain. For a moment, they simply held each other, both listening to the sound of the footsteps that were getting closer and closer.

Marshall pulled away and looked at her, bringing his hands up to cup her face, his eyes searching, holding hers. He whispered to her softly, "Whatever happens next, I need to say this to you. I love you, Mary. It took me a long time to see it, but I think I've been in love with you since the first time I opened your case file and saw that photograph of you, read about you. I'm not asking for anything from you in return. I don't want to take anything away from you or cage you up. I just wanted you to hear me say it, to know that everything I am is yours if you want it, even if we both end here tonight." And he kissed her, soft, sweet, true, moonlight spilling over them like a benediction.

Mary trembled at the kiss, at the words, and it was like a missing piece of her had slipped into place, like a key had turned in a hidden lock. Peace descended. Whatever came now was irrelevant. She broke the kiss gently, smiled, whispered almost soundlessly near his ear, "You're not asking for anything in return, huh? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, buddy, but you've got it whether you want it or not. I believe in an even trade. If I'm taking everything you have, I guess it's only right that you get everything I am right back." And she pressed her mouth to his again, feeling the joy and surprise running through him as he registered the meaning of her words.

She pulled away from him again. "That's right. I love you, Marshall. I have known I wanted to keep you since that first night in the Phoenix Dream. It took me a little longer to figure out why. But you're mine and I'm yours and nothing will ever change that, not even whatever we're about to face next."

He took her hand, brought it to his lips in that old gesture she treasured and loved, their eyes meeting and speaking silently what they did not have the time or the safety to say to one another with their voices or their bodies. Then he said, "Let's see if we can't move a little further into the woods that way. Maybe we can get a better angle at the car."

They crept toward the dark stand of trees as carefully as possible, listening to the crunching of the footsteps on the path, satisfied that they seemed to be carrying Raph and his henchman farther away from their position. As they reached their new hiding place, however, a bright light suddenly shown from the darkness, blinding them for just a moment. When their eyes adjusted, they saw Raph alone before them holding his gun trained on them, a wild light in his eyes and a brutal, twisted smile on his face.

"Ah, isn't love a beautiful thing? Doesn't it warm the soul, give strength and courage to do the impossible? I have always found it to be so. Let us see what sorts of strength it gives to you."

* * *

**Hmm... thought it was going to end, did you? Surely you know me better than that by now. **

** R&R, please. Don't make me send Raph after you. :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Dark, dark, this one is. But it had to be, I guess. Stay with it folks. There will be light again.

* * *

**

Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide? ~Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down. ~Ray Bradbury

* * *

Mary was furious and afraid at the sudden appearance of the monster of her nightmares. This then, was what came of not waiting for back-up, of not calling the Marshals, J.P. Yet, given the same choices, the same set of information, she knew she'd have done it the same way again. She'd known that J.P. would have found a way to keep her from going, from being involved in the active part of rescuing Marshall, especially after the scare with the phone call earlier in the day, and she'd not been able to stand the thought of either a moment's more delay waiting for the forces to gather and move or for her uncle's trying to restrain her. _We should have called when we arrived, though...should have let somebody know what we'd discovered.... Too late for that kind of regret now..._

Marshall's hand tightened on hers, and he pushed his battered body forward just a little in front of Mary, instinctively protective, both the law officer and the lover calling for the action. Raph's eyes narrowed at the movement, and his sardonic tones broke the nighttime silence once again.

"Ah, bravo. You see, Maria, you see? This is what I was talking about on the phone. No tin star in sight, broken and bleeding, barely able to stand, but still the hero. Quite inspirational, really."

Raph's hand tightened on the gun, and Mary could see him shaking despite the apparent urbane calm of his voice.

_He's going to break any minute. The monster is going to show through, and when it does, he's just going to shoot us. There will be no chance for any kind of plan, any kind of rescue. This has to end. I have to end it, and there is only one way._

Mary felt hate overwhelm the fear, and she released Marshall's hand to step past him, walk calmly toward Raph. She heard Marshall's sharp intake of breath, felt his hand grasp after hers, and she cut her eyes toward him as she walked past, met his gaze briefly. _Understand me, Marshall. Follow my lead. Oh, please, for the love of all that's holy, if ever you were going to be in synch with me, let it be now...._

She forced herself to hold Raph's eyes with her own and walked toward him. It was like walking toward a venomous serpent coiled to strike. "You think this sort of thing is heroic? How so? He can't save me. Hell, he can't even save himself..." She looked back at Marshall who was struggling to stay standing, his fatigue apparent. She turned back to Raph, forced a smirk. "Then maybe I'm tired of heroes, Raph. Maybe I'm tired of men who just talk about taking care of me but can't follow through, men who have to be rescued instead."

She was getting close to him now, and he was watching her intently, his dark eyes riveted on her. "I got your little....notes, Raph, all of them. Maybe I'm ready to be with a man who knows exactly how much he wants to be with me and will do anything to make it happen. Are you that man, Raphael?" She had closed to arm's length of him. "I was only ever with that one," she tossed her head and a disdainful look at Marshall, "because I thought I could use him to make the charges against me go away. He's not any use to me anymore, though, and I never felt anything for him like I felt for you, Raph..." _That last __part, at least, was not a lie. I never hated Marshall, never wanted to rip his throat out with my bare hands._

Raphael's gun was still trained on Marshall, but a slow smile bloomed on his face, making it handsome for a moment. "Mary, you don't know how long I've been waiting for you to say that, to realize that we belong together." He sat the halogen lantern flashlight down on the ground, reached out for her with the freed hand, cupped her face for a moment. She fought the rising bile and shudders his touch provoked, turned her face into his hand as if it were pleasing. _Pretend it's Marshall,_ she told herself. _ Come on Raph, be a good boy. Just take your attention from him for just a second, you son of a bitch...give me the break I need..._

His next words chilled her to the core. "I have tried to show you how much you mean to me, querida. I am going to give you one more grand proof. I am going to remove this block between us, this weak hero, and then you and I can be free together. For his touching you, for what you endured at his hands, I will give you his heart. I will let you cut it out yourself, your final victory over those who have made you suffer."

---

Thea encountered the lone man with the flashlight and gun as she hurried toward the rendezvous point. He was making an astonishing amount of noise as he crashed through the dead leaves coating the path. _What can this fool be thinking? He's making himself a huge target, practically painting the bullseye right on his own head...._ She'd had the element of surprise as he'd not seen her yet, but it had taken her a few minutes to get into position to get rid of him. She didn't want to make any noise with the kill that would give away her own location since, for all she knew, there might be more of them still out there somewhere.

She wove through the trees and scattered underbrush in the moonlit night and finally got an angle she liked. The man was dead before he hit the ground, and Thea was racing back down the path when she saw the bright light flare to life off to the left of the path. She slowed and began to pick her way forward. What she saw, the tableau of frozen figures, Mary and Marshall clinging to one another, Raph holding the gun, chilled her to the core of her soul. She watched with horror as Mary left Marshall, heard with crystal clarity the words that were exchanged, and understood immediately what Mary was about to attempt.

_Oh girl, you are seven kinds of brave for this, but I have no intention of you doing this alone. Just give me a few more minutes of distraction, and I will give you one genuine dead Dominican._

She flickered through the darkness like a ghost, reloading her Glock as her feet flew.

---

Marshall had seen the message in Mary's eyes, but it was all he could do not to throw himself after her. _Don't do it, Mary. Don't take the chance. _He cursed his own weakness, cursed his lack of weapon, the situation that had forced her into a place where she was now walking toward her worst nightmare.

Even though he knew what she was trying to do, her cutting words and glances still bit into him, not because of what she said, but because of the situation they were in, because of his own helplessness to stop her from making this sacrifice of herself. He let the despair and pain he felt show on his face, feeding Raph's belief in Mary's deception.

_Because no matter what happens now, it **is** a deception. _He would always have that moment in the moonlight, and the truth of it was carved into his heart as deeply as the burning wounds of his shoulder.

He watched Raph reach for her, watched her turn her face into that hated, bloodstained hand, heard the loving and triumphant tone in Ramirez's voice as he pronounced the final action in the play, was unsurprised to find that it involved his own death. _Let it all begin then. Let it all come to an end, for better or worse._

---

Raph ran his hand over Mary's face again, gently, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Then he stepped back a careful step. He withdrew a set of handcuffs from his belt, and Mary wanted to weep as she recognized Marshall's own. He tossed them to her, and she caught them reflexively, hands running over the bright metal.

"Bind up your lover lest he think to run away or cause problems. You know how troublesome these heroes are. Then take that blade of yours and end the Marshal, querida. Let's get this over with. I am ready to be away from this place, to start our new life together. All new life starts with blood and a little pain, does it not?" He smirked at Marshall. "In this case, Marshal, all the honor goes to you."

She turned and walked toward Marshall, her eyes meeting his, desperation in them. Raph's voice came from behind them, closer now. "Get on your knees, Marshal. I think it is appropriate at a moment like this, don't you? Besides, anyone can tell by looking at you that your strength is almost gone." He waved the gun at Marshall.

Marshall gritted his teeth and said defiantly even as he wavered on his feet, "Go to hell, Ramirez, and take her with you. You two might do this, but I don't have to make it easy for you."

Mary stood in front of Marshall, between him and Raph's gun, and she looked into his eyes, apology there for him to see before she acted. Then, she reached out with one hand and gently pushed against his wounded shoulder. He sank to the ground, face blanching with the pain. Mary fought the urge to reach out and catch him, to grab him to her. _Have to hurt him now to save him in a minute. Oh, Marshall, I swear, I swear, I will make this all up to you somehow. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. _

She stepped around behind him to pull his arms together behind his back, wincing inwardly as he moaned with pain at the manipulation of his damaged shoulder. She clicked the cuffs closed, leaving them loose deliberately. Knowing Raph could not see her, she softly squeezed Marshall's fingertips with her own, just a momentary drawing of strength, a brief apology. She felt his fingers curl around her own, return the pressure, even as his head fell forward as if in defeat.

She moved back to stand in front of Marshall again. Mary reached down to her boot for the foot-long Bowie. She drew it from its sheath slowly, contemplatively. She turned the still-stained steel in the light of the halogen lantern. She heard Raph take another step forward. _Just get a little closer...just a little closer and all our problems will be over...._

"Take him now, Mary. End him. Slit his throat and be done with it."

_How to stall? How to get him close enough for the last desperate gamble? _And it came to her like a whispering on the wind.... She turned back to Raph, held out the Bowie hilt-first to him, and smiled her most seductive smile.

"Give me a gift, Raph. Show me how much you love me. I want to see you kill him for me like you did all those others. Show me _your_ strength, my Raphael." She purred the words, invited him with voice and body.

Raph looked at her for a moment, and she could practically see the wheels in his diseased mind turning. He walked toward her until he stood right in front of her, gun between them pressing into the flesh of her abdomen, and he ran his free hand into her hair. "Mary," he murmured, "I will give you anything you ask, always....but first...show me how much _you_ love _me_." He slipped the gun into the holster on his waist, and one hand crept down to wrap loosely around hers on the hilt of the Bowie while his hand in her hair twisted to the point of pain to hold her still as he pressed his mouth to hers.

Every instinct in her screamed at his touch, at the taste of him. It was the stuff of her nightmares, these hands on her again, this mouth cutting off her air again, the rough brutality with which he forced her mouth open, plundered with his tongue. Yet she forced herself not only to endure but to respond, to slide her free hand up his shoulder to the back of his neck. When he bit her bottom lip as had been his custom of old, she dug her nails into skin as an outlet for her rage and fear, and she heard him make a little noise of appreciation. _Sick bastard, aren't you? But then you always did like it that way. _He still didn't let go of her wrist, and although she longed to raise the great Bowie and stab him with it, she knew she was no match for his strength.

After what seemed like an eternity to her, he broke the kiss. She allowed the poker-player's mask to descend, the cat-smile and opaque eyes to appear. _He'd never seen through them like Marshall did, anyway. He doesn't know me worth a damn, never did. _Raph's hot eyes ran over her face, her swollen mouth, and his hand released its grip on her wrist and took the blade from hers.

"I believe you now, querida. I felt the truth in that kiss. Such a beautiful gift. Now, I will give you what you asked of me, amor. It is my pleasure to do this for you, to know that you want this."

He took his eyes from her and came to stand behind Marshall, and he stood looking down at his victim, clearly savoring the moment. Raph grabbed Marshall's hair and pulled his head back, and Raph flashed his eyes to Mary momentarily, his dark eyes full of triumph. Then he bent low and whispered furiously in Marshall's ear, "I want you to know that this is for thinking that you could have her. This is for daring to touch her. This is for thinking that what belongs to me could ever be yours even for the shortest of times. As you die, I want you to remember the expression on her face, Marshall. As you die, I want you to remember that it was by _my_ hand, but it was by _her_ request. As you die, cabron, I want you to know that tonight and for the rest of the nights that there are she will be calling _my_ name when she comes and that she will never, ever think of you again. And now, Marshal Marshall, with this knowledge, let your heart break as you end." Raph raised the Bowie with a practiced flourish and he looked at Mary, waiting for some sign from her.

Mary took a step forward as if she were eager to watch from a closer point of view, careful to keep that cat-smile on her face, and she bent over to speak to Marshall. "Goodbye, Marshall. I'm sorry that it turned out this way, but I have to be true to my heart, true to the man I love. I'm sure you understand that, and if you don't, well," she laughed, a little careless, a little cruel, "they say death brings a new clarity to all things, don't they?" Marshall saw her hand slide down into the top of her boot, saw her hand wrap around the hilt of the other blade she'd taken from the shed where he'd been kept, understood her desperate game, closed his eyes, and opened them.

"Goodbye, Mary." He forced his tone to be bitter, but the weariness wasn't forced at all. "Enough is enough. Just get it over with." And he looked deep into her eyes one moment before he threw his weight backward into Ramirez's knees, pain consuming him as the hand holding his hair tore as it lost its grip, as Ramirez's body weight collided with his injuries, as his strength finally gave way.

---

Mary knew he understood her when he met her eyes. She hadn't counted on his action, but she was grateful for it. As Raph fell under Marshall's unexpected attack, Mary pulled the long hunting knife from her boot and dove at him. She felt the satisfying contact of blade sliding into flesh, heard Raph yell as his own knife wounded him. He used his tremendous strength to fling her to the side and scrabbled for the Bowie knife.

Marshall lay bound and panting, almost unconscious, to the side. He was at the end of what he could do. His injuries had taken their toll. He watched through blurry eyes as Mary pounced on Raph, felt a savage gladness surge through him when he saw the red wetness appear on Raph's shirt and begin to spread. _About time you know what that feels like personally, you fucker...._ Marshall struggled to stay awake, tried to begin working his hands out of the loose cuffs, but the pain of moving his injured arm made his head spin. _Must get free, must help Mary...she can't hold him off forever...._

Mary was lunging, parrying, using all of her skills with the blade to stay alive. She'd cut him twice now, the deep stab, and another very satisfying long running cut down his forearm.

"Puta! You lied to me! To ME! For what? For him? For that? I will kill you both, Mary, but he will go first, and YOU WILL WATCH IT! You will beg me to die, beg me to kill him! Oh, the pain I will inflict on you both for this!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah....I bet you say that to all the girls you date and dismember." She danced it, avoided a wild swing of the larger knife, stabbed at him again. He knew how to use a knife fine for chopping and carving work, but he didn't know how to knife fight, and she was glad. _Bleed, motherfucker, bleed..... Got to keep him from remembering that he has... _

His hand slid to the holster even as her mind floated over the words..._a gun...._ He drew it and had it pointed at her before she could close with him to struggle for it. She froze, blade in hand, his blood dripping from its leading edge, staring down the muzzle, waiting for the pain she knew was coming momentarily. _Ah, so, that poet was wrong...the world does end with a bang after all.... _Seconds later, the expected shot rang out.

_---_

Thea had watched the events unfold themselves in the little clearing with rising impatience. She could not get a clear line of attack to drop Ramirez. He was holding a gun on Marshall and Mary, and then, what had happened next...

Her rage had frozen her ice cold as she'd watched Mary push Marshall to his knees and cuff him, watched Mary accept Raph's kiss, and still she could not get the shot despite the fact that Ramirez had holstered the weapon. He now had his hands and a very large blade within striking distance of Mary, but Thea had no sniper's rifle, had only brought her handguns from the car since speed and silence were the top priority , and even as good a shot as she was, she couldn't be sure of a killing shot that wouldn't rip through him and into Mary or a lucky movement on the part of Ramirez that might end Mary's life. She would have to wait for the perfect moment, have to pray that Mary and Marshall could hold on long enough to give it to her. She circled the little glade like a stalking tiger, pausing here and there in the darkness, forced to watch as her best friend played out the drama to the end.

When Ramirez came to stand behind Marshall, Thea decided that the time had come to take her chances. If she didn't take some shot now, it was going to be too late anyway. She found a tree to brace herself against, slowed her breathing, took steady aim, and was a hairsbreadth away from pulling the trigger when all hell broke loose in the glade.

She watched Mary clash steel-on-steel with the madman, watched her friend blood him, and for the first time since she'd come across the little grouping in the clearing, he was separated from everyone else. She took a few light running strides forward through the trees, weapon coming up as she moved, and to her horror, she saw his hand falling to the holstered gun at his side. Thea saw the pistol leave the holster, train itself on Mary, and then she squeezed the trigger of her own weapon twice in succession, quick as thought, smoothly, the way she'd been trained.

The bullets caught Ramirez in the chest, the force of impact jerking his body sideways, two bright blossoms of blood appearing to stain the already-tattered and dirty white cotton of his button-down shirt, but for a terrible moment more, he stood. Then he slowly, soundlessly crumpled to the ground.

Thea burst into the clearing, gun still drawn, looking for more danger. Mary stood trembling, knife clenched in her upraised hand, the same position she'd been in when she'd heard the first shot, thought death had come to her. She was unable to move, unable to look away from Raph's body now lying in a heap only a few feet away from her. Her breath was coming in short panting gasps.

Thea cautiously made her way over to Mary and looked at her. Mary's eyes were wide, her pupils were slightly dilated, and her skin was covered in a clammy sweat. _Shocky for sure, _Thea thought, _but who the hell can blame her? Look at what she just survived...again...._ Thea holstered her gun, and then she gently, gently took the knife from Mary's hand and tucked it into her own belt, pulled Mary away from what was left of Raph and turned her toward where Marshall lay fading in and out of consciousness in his agony.

"Mary. Mary!" Thea shook her gently to get her attention. Mary looked up at her, eyes sharpening, focusing. "You're going to take care of your boy here while I call in the cavalry. Okay?"

Mary folded herself down beside Marshall and wrapped her arms around him. Thea used her phone to call the Marshal service and J.P.'s men, and that was how everyone found them less than an hour later, Mary holding Marshall's head in her lap, gently stroking his hair off his forehead, Marshall fighting the pain and unconsciousness, and Thea standing sentinel, scanning the darkness for danger.

---

Marshall was taken directly to the hospital. Mary demanded that she be allowed to ride with him, and she bared her teeth savagely when she was told she couldn't. Since he clung to her hand with such tenacity and since the young, dangerous woman with the military credentials and the air of barely restrained violence said it was okay, the EMTs finally just threw protocol to the winds and loaded her up in the the ambulance with them. J.P. yelled that he and Thea would follow the ambulance and meet them at the hospital. Mary waved her understanding, and the doors closed.

At the hospital, the doctors checked Marshall over thoroughly. They cleaned his battered face, checked the torn lip, and set a stitch in it to help it heal faster. The wounds in his shoulder were sterilized and covered, and the worst areas of them received a stitches to bind the flesh together. There was no permanent muscle damage to that battered shoulder, and the doctors were optimistic about him making a full recovery except for the scarring he would inevitably have from the cuts. He was thoroughly x-rayed and found to have a cracked rib rib from the beatings Raph had given him. Fortunately, there was no sign of serious damage from the head injuries he'd received during the wreck, his capture and the subsequent abuse, only bruising and a concussion.

When they wheeled him into his room, Mary's heart broke for him. Marshall looked a little lost in the sterile hospital gown, and even that couldn't be put on him properly because of his shoulder. They carefully settled him into the bed, then he was also hooked up to an IV, and Mary watched them hang bags of various liquids as they tried to replace the blood he'd lost, gave him antibiotics to keep him from getting infections from his long-open and neglected wounds, and finally added the heavy-duty drugs needed to cut the pain. His eyes were heavy-lidded and sleep was about to claim him.

"Mary," he whispered.

She slid off the chair next to the bed and leaned down over him. "What is it, Marshall? I'm right here?"

He wrapped a hand white with medical tape around hers, and his lopsided grin at her presence made her heart turn over in her chest. "'S cold in here, isn't it?.... 'S always cold in hospitals. And this..." He plucked weakly with the hand in which the IV was embedded at the gown, " this...horrible puke green..... Don't know why. Know what this place needs?"

She pulled the blankets up around him as best she could with one hand and smoothed the hair back from his forehead, looking down at him, love, relief, and amusement tumbling together inside. "What?"

"Needs some.... some silly pajamas. Be.... toasty warm ….in those." His eyes were drifting closed, but his grip on her hand did not lessen.

She grinned and the fist of anxiety that had been gripping her heart loosened. Despite the horrors of the past twenty-four hours, despite the blood still clinging to her, and the difficult days she knew were ahead of them both, suddenly those words were a much-needed reminder that they had survived, and they were going to be okay in the end.

---

**It's not over yet, folks, but this was a good place to end this chapter. R&R.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Time for some recovery, some sadness, and some sweetness....

* * *

**

You learn to like someone when you find out what makes them laugh, but you can never truly love someone until you find out what makes them cry. ~Author Unknown

Sometimes we make love with our eyes. Sometimes we make love with our hands. Sometimes we make love with our bodies. Always we make love with our hearts. ~Author Unknown

* * *

Mary had to be forced to leave the hospital to get cleaned up. J.P. tried pointing out that Raph had been shot, taken away in a bodybag by a coroner, and that there were Marshals standing watch outside Marshall's hospital room. He even reminded her that Marshall himself was out cold, a mixture of exhaustion and drugs finally giving his tortured body the rest it had needed for so long. None of this had cut any ice whatsoever with Mary. Finally, Thea had promised not to leave the room until Mary could go back to the Phoenix Dream for a little while, and everyone concerned had to be satisfied with that. Marshall, under the influence of heavy-duty pain medication, slept on blissfully unaware of the squabble. Only when she withdrew her hand from his own did he murmur, a frown crossing his face. Mary almost refused to leave, but Thea shoved her toward the door with a pointed, "Go. You stink and are filthy. Damn, girl. _Do_ something about it."

Back at the Phoenix Dream, Mary stripped off her tattered and bloodstained clothing and made a pile of it in the corner of the lush bathroom of the penthouse suite. Everything she had on was covered in crud. She decided to take a hot shower, and she grabbed her favorite body wash. She absently noticed the scratches and scrapes, the bruises already making a rainbow of colors on her body as she walked past the long vanity mirror and into the tiled shower enclosure, its wall of glass bricks forming the boundary of it.

The hot water hitting her aching muscles from the multiple jets was pure bliss, and the smell of the body wash was relaxing. _Jesus, I really am absolutely filthy, _she thought as she noticed the dirt sluicing off her down the drain along with the bubbles of the soap. She intended to hurry through her bathing because she wanted to get back to the hospital before Marshall could awaken and find her gone, but she found herself reaching for the liquid soap she'd sat on tiled seat inside the shower area again, squeezing another dollop out onto the mesh sponge as memories of what she'd done to accumulate that layer of grime began to race in to fill the echoing silence of the tiled stall.

She rubbed harder, trying to remove the memory of everything that had happened, of Raph's hands on her. Her mind replayed his hard grip as he'd pulled her forward into that hellishly-eternal kiss, his hand sliding down her arm, his hand cupping her cheek, and then, suddenly there was the memory her mind had been blocking as a matter of survival: that of hot blood flowing over her hands in the darkness.

She looked down at her hands and saw the remnants of that dried blood still present even after all this time in the hot water. She laughed a little, a tiny bubble of hysteria. _I'm having a Lady fucking Macbeth moment here... I can't get this shit out from under my nails...._ She reached for a stiff nailbrush from a wall-hung rack, scrubbed hard, fast, skin turning red with her motion, but suddenly all she could see was the last expression of the guard at the door of Marshall's shed, the way he'd looked in the moonlight as she'd stabbed him, then the way his blood had looked black like ink as it had spilled out of the gash she'd opened in his throat. She sank to the floor of the shower, hot water cascading over her, and she dropped the nailbrush, heard the hard plastic clatter away into a corner. She covered her face with her hands as the tears came, then jerked them away again, held them away from herself as though they were alien entities capable of sentient action and free will, and she cried.

That was how J.P. found her an half-an-hour later when she failed to answer his phone calls, lying on her side in a fetal ball, weeping on the floor of the expensively tiled shower staring at her hands as the hot water rushed over her. J.P. cut off the water, grabbed a towel and drew her gently up and out. Once she was wrapped the huge soft towels of the suite, he gathered her to him, scooping her up like a child in his arms, and he carried her to the bed and tucked her under the covers. She instantly returned to the protective ball under the covers, and it broke his heart.

He sat beside her on the bed, stroking her hair as he had when she was little and Jinx had had one of her episodes, when her father had broken another promise, and later when she was recovering from the damage Raph had done to her. She'd had to come back from too much in her life. And he could guess, based on the debriefing Thea had given him as they'd followed the ambulance back to the hospital, what the cause of these tears was, especially since he'd found her staring at hands scrubbed almost to the point of bleeding, hands she still held slightly away from her trembling body.

"Mary, my girl," he sighed. "So strong, always had to be so brave, so quick. I'm so sorry that this came to you. I tried to keep it from you, but even I can't protect you from everything."

She couldn't control the trembling, but just having him there helped, just having him know without having to tell him in that way he always had was a restoration of the normalcy she needed. "I had to do it, J.P. He...he...fought me, and...he was going to pull a gun....and...."

J.P. continued to stroke his hand across her hair in the same gentle motion. "And had you not taken action, allowed instinct to rule you, both you and Marshall would lie dead right now. It's as simple as that."

She looked up at him, just as she had as a child after one of the bad-dream realities of her life. "So if it's so simple, why does it feel so bad?"

J.P. leaned down and held her close. "Because you're not one of the monsters in the dark, little girl, and you never will be." And he rocked her back and forth gently until the tears stopped and she fell into a dreamless slumber.

---

The next morning when she awoke, J.P. was still there, asleep in one of the big comfortable chairs he'd pulled next to the bed. She felt stiff and sore, the exertions of the previous day making themselves known, but her mind was calmer, more peaceful. She shifted to sit up, and J.P. awoke, that simple change from slumber to wakefulness that was so much a part of him. He studied her briefly and smiled at her. She found she could return it.

"How about a little breakfast? I'm buying." J.P. was already reaching for the phone.

Mary's smile became cunning. This was an old game between them. "Well, as long at it's on your bill, J.P., how about a lot of breakfast? I'm starved."

He cut his eyes to her, amused but unsurprised, as the operator for room service picked up downstairs. He covered the receiver a moment, threw her the robe he'd retrieved while she slept. "Get yourself dressed then, while I'm getting food. I know you, and you'll be wanting to leave the moment you've eaten, so save some time now..." He turned away to deal with making the breakfast order and to give her some privacy.

Mary got up and pulled the robe on, headed for the closet and dressing area. He did know her altogether too well.

---

After Mary and J.P. ate, she packed two small bags, one for her and one for Marshall, to take back to the hospital and called Thea to check in. Marshall had slept through the night and had woken only briefly before falling back asleep again. Thea soothed Mary by telling her that he'd been pleased that she'd gone to take care of herself, and that he'd very specifically told Thea to tell Mary that he'd said, "Do not worry about me. Take your time."

Mary and J.P. were going downstairs to on their way out when an item in one of the shop windows caught her attention. She grabbed J.P.'s arm. "Give me just a minute, okay? There's something I just have to buy in here before we go, a get-well gift of sorts...." She darted into the Vegas-themed souvenir shop and a few minutes later, she came out with a wrapped package and a smile on her face.

---

Marshall was awake again when they arrived, and his color was considerably better. He was poking suspiciously at a tray of hospital breakfast, and Mary distinctly heard him mutter to Thea, "Nothing in nature is supposed to be that shade of orange," as he prodded the cubes of jello in their melamine bowl. He broke into a smile when Mary and J.P. came through the door, and Thea relinquished her spot in the big chair for J.P. Marshall pushed the rolling table with the remains of his breakfast and the frighteningly-colored gelatin away.

Mary took the brightly-wrapped box from behind her and held it out to Marshall. "Got you something." Her grin was one he recognized, and his eyes sparkled as he returned it.

"And is this the sort of thing I should open in front of others? Knowing you, I have to ask..."

She snorted, perched lightly at the end of his bed. "Idiot. Just open the damn box, or I'll take it back. And you reeeally want what's inside, trust me."

Marshall popped the lid off the box and pulled out a layer of white tissue paper to see what lay beneath. Then he laughed in delight and lifted the item inside out. She'd bought him a pair of royal blue flannel pajama pants with the famous "Welcome to Las Vegas" landmark sign on them interspersed with the words "What happens in Vegas...." in different bright colors along with tumbling dice, poker chips, Elvis in his white jumpsuit, and showgirls doing high kicks.

They looked at each other, their eyes meeting and holding, and Thea suddenly found herself in need of a soda from the vending machine down the hall while J.P. recalled an important business call he wanted to step down the hall and make.

"Do you like them?"

"You know I do. They're great."

"Well, it's not Santa on waterskis, but.... I thought they might break up some of the puke green monotony for you," she said, genuinely glad he they'd made him happy. She laid her hand against the bright fabric, ran her fingers over the pattern. "I thought maybe some of the nurses can help you put them on when they come in. That way you won't have to be so cold. They looked nice and warm to me...."

Marshall reached out and took her hand in his, pulled it to lips. "Thank you, Mary." He was touched by the sweetness of her gift, by the silliness and the thoughtfulness of it.

Mary leaned down to press her lips to his, gently, softly, and then she leaned back with her wicked grin in place. "Besides, they'll keep you thinking of me until you get out of here and I can get them off you in a _proper_ bed."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Don't think I didn't notice the little showgirls. Subtle, Mary. You're very, very subtle."

She shrugged, totally unrepentant. "Like the proverbial ton of bricks. You know me."

He smiled, squeezed her hand, pulled her back down for another kiss. Just before her lips touched his, he murmured, "Yes, yes, thank God, I do...."

Thea, who had just been entering the room from her fabricated trip to the soda machine, rolled her eyes, spun on the ball of her foot, and stalked down the hall to find J.P.

---

Marshall was in the hospital for three more days, and Mary stayed with him the whole time. The nurses helped him into his Vegas pants, and they were the source of much amusement as he was taken from place to place for tests and as he walked up and down the halls with Mary for exercise.

He refused to be embarrassed, though, proudly smoothing his hand over the fabric and saying, "Hey, better this than my derriere hanging out, right?"

Mary had exchanged a speaking look with the nurse who was helping him into his wheelchair, and Mary had just shaken her head and shrugged, smiling wickedly. _Maybe for you, Marshall. Perhaps some of the rest of us are missing a free showing of that fine, fine ass...._

When he'd been discharged, J.P. and she had bundled him into one of J.P.'s towncars, and they'd whisked him back to the Phoenix Dream, up to the penthouse suite. Once they were settled, J.P. wished them well, told them he'd check in on them later, and discretely made himself as scarce as possible as quickly as he could.

For a few moments, they simply stood and stared at one another. There was so much to say now, so much to do, and with the threat of Raph no longer driving them, neither of them seemed to know how to act, where to go in this time of peace.

"So....what do you want to do first?" asked Mary, finally.

"First? Well....if I'm making a to-do list, then first, I want to take a real shower and get the hospital off me. Then, I want to eat a meal that has not been nutritionally balanced for my health and well-being. After that, ….I guess I'm up for anything you have in mind."

She smiled. "Sounds like a good plan to me. Why don't you tell me what you want to eat, and I'll order it while you get a shower? That way it will be here by the time you get out. Two birds, one stone. That sort of thing."

He gave her his order and headed for the big bathroom. She watched him go speculatively, watched as he tugged the tail of his shirt out of his pants as he reached the door, saw the shirt hike up a little to reveal bare skin as he prepared to unbutton it and cast it aside....

Mary hadn't been in the big shower since the night everything had come crashing down on her and she'd wound up in a ball on the floor. _Maybe it's time to have a better memory of such a lovely space. _

She gave Marshall a few private minutes under the pulsing hot water, and then she put the Do Not Disturb sign on the room door, slid out of her clothing, and walked into the steamy room and into the shower enclosure. He had his back to the opening, trying to work the shampoo into his hair as best he could without involving his injured arm. She leaned against the glass brick wall for just a moment and watched the water flow across the masculine, graceful lines of Marshall's body, spilling over the broad shoulders to run down the strong back and over the lean hips. _God, he really is beautiful._

He became aware of her presence and turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, hands still raised to push his wet hair out his face. He faced her fully, his lips quirking, his blue eyes heating just a little as he ran them appreciatively over her body, and he held his hand out to her.

She stepped forward into the spray, slid her hand into his. "Thought you might need some...help. You know...washing the essential bits and pieces, that sort of thing, especially since you're not really supposed to be doing what I just saw you doing, Marshall Mann...."

He tugged her lightly into his arms, pressed his mouth to hers softly. "Mmm...don't tell, okay? Those nurses might inflict more of that day-glow jello on me. Besides," he rested he forehead against hers for a moment, "I...just needed …to feel clean. Really clean. You know?"

She knew. "Come here then." She pulled him over to the bench seat of the shower and gestured for him to sit down. He looked at her warily and remained standing.

"Look. Don't make me leg sweep you. Sit your tall ass down. I'm _trying_ to be nice here, trying to have a 'moment.' Help me out."

A crooked grin crept across his lips and he barely repressed the laughter that threatened to erupt as he settled himself on the bench. "Ah...far be it from me to interfere with a 'moment.' Will this be satisfactory?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "smartass," but took up the bottle of shampoo, put a bit in her hands, and began to work it through his hair now that she wasn't having to strain up to reach it. She was gentle, careful with her touch, mindful of the bruises he still carried, but thorough. His eyes closed, and he let himself relax into the simple human pleasure of letting someone else, especially this someone else, this woman he loved, take care of him for a moment.

"Now. Come and let's get that all rinsed away," she said, her soapy fingers finding his own, drawing him up from the bench and back into the luxurious downpour of water. He tilted his head back and felt the shampoo residue washing away, felt her hands helping to finish the process, felt her water-slick body sliding against his own as she reached upward. He gazed down at her through the falling water, and he slipped his hand around to cup the back of her neck. _Let's have a moment, Mary. Let's have a real moment together. We're due.... _She looked up at him and her hands stilled, curled in his hair, as she saw the light in his eyes, and he lowered his head to kiss her.

There was no urgency to the mating of their mouths. There was only her and him, the two of them in that primitive element, only the soft sounds of their murmured joy in each other as the kiss deepened. Finally, he pulled away to kiss her beneath her ear, still unhurried, still gentle. "See. To tell the truth, this actually was number three on that list you asked me about earlier...." She trembled, let out a little gasp as he brought his hands up her body slowly, and he couldn't resist bringing his mouth back to hers to taste those little sounds.

She smiled against his lips. "Oh, Marshall, you should never, never, never make this number three on any list..." She slid her hands up his chest to link them around his neck, careful to keep her touches gentle, trying to avoid the places she knew would cause him pain.

"Mmm..." he purred against her mouth, tasting her, tongue sliding in. "I'm re-evaluating my priorities even as we speak."

"I don't know," she murmured, stepping back, her smile appearing, becoming wicked, arch. "You're right. There _is_ something to be said for cleanliness. In fact...what is that old cliché? Something about its being next to godliness? Let's see how divine we can make it, hmm?" She reached for the bar of soap and lathered her hands. The soap smelled of sandalwood, and the fragrance filled the air.

She walked around behind him to start with his back and used her hands caress him, careful to avoid the wounds still covered by their huge waterproof dressing. For a moment, she simply slid her hands around him and rested her head against his back, hugging herself to him from behind as the water ran over them. Then she relathered her hands and ran them over his chest making slow circles, fingers flexing lightly. She let one hand slide down and run over him where he was already hard, soapy fingers slicking down the shaft, immediately delighted with the hitch in his breath and with the response beneath her touch. His hands captured hers, and he turned to take her into his arms, running his fingers up her arms and into her hair, taking her mouth with his.

He stepped back to take up the soap and lather his own hands, smiling a little, eyes that hot blue that promised her pleasure. "I'm not the only one who needs a little divine indulgence, Mary. Come here." And he slid slick hands over her shoulders to her breasts. She let her own hands wander across the broad expanse of his chest as his fingers circled and teased, and her head fell back in pleasure at the sensation of his touch. Urgency was rising, but she still had the desire to touch him and be touched forever.

He could not resist the elegant arch of her neck, and he pressed kisses there as his hands continued to tease little sighs and mewls from her as he stroked her breasts. He slipped one hand down her in slow, lazy circles across her abdomen leaving trail of soapy bubbles until he could cup her where she ached for him. He brought his mouth back to hers to catch her gasp as he slid one soapy fingertip between her swollen lips to stroke her slowly, featherlight and delicate caresses that made her thoughts spin away like water down the drain in the floor.

"Marshall..." she panted.

"Mmm...got to be sure you're clean everywhere....Still feels...dirty...here..." That slick fingertip flickered against her again, circling, rubbing, still maddeningly light, and she moaned her pleasure and frustration into his mouth, sliding her hands down to touch him in return.

She was rewarded with a growl as her hand wrapped around him, and he responded by sliding another finger between her legs, beginning to stroke her in earnest. He turned them so the water from the rainmaker showerhead was falling over them, washing away the soapy residue, cascading over every curve of their bodies as they caressed each other slowly, steadily. Their tongues were stroking, invading and retreating in another heated touch as the kiss continued. She finally broke the kiss as his fingers sent her over the edge, and she called out his name as she came, her knees buckling.

He maneuvered her to sit on the tiled bench seat, and he knelt in front of her, pulling her forward to the edge, pushing her knees open wide to accommodate him. Her hands braced behind her on the tiles of the wide bench to support her weight as she tried to put the world together again, but she was not even recovered from the first orgasm when she felt the wet roughness of his tongue lave her where she was still so sensitive and swollen, and her hips arched, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair.

"Again," he panted against her, his voice rough with need, "go up again. Got to see you, to taste you...feel you...go up again for me..." and he held her open with two fingers and ravished her with his hungry mouth. She fell backwards against the tile wall behind her, cradling his head, hips rocking against him, keening mindlessly as he slipped two fingers from his other hand into her, thrusting them hard where she was slick and ready, curving them to find the spot that would bring her instant pleasure. Her world exploded, her eyes going blind and blank, and she was beyond the stars....

When she opened her eyes, he was still on his knees staring up at her with eyes full of desire. She pulled him up next to her on the bench, kissing him. His hands slid through her wet hair to angle her head so his mouth could plunder her own, and she felt herself growing weak again as he feasted, heard the little noise of need coming from him as he kissed her. He leaned toward her, instinct taking over, driving him toward a position to sate their desires, but Mary pressed him back gently, a hand against his chest. He couldn't support his weight on that damaged shoulder.

"Let me this time," she whispered looking deep into his eyes, kissing him again. She stood briefly and straddled him, careful not to grasp his injured shoulder. His hands fell to her hips, and their eyes locked as she slowly took the length of him into herself, each watching the wonder of becoming one in the other's eyes. She slowly began to move, rocking herself atop him, bringing pleasure to them both.

One of his hands cupped a full breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across the taut nipple, and then he was lowering his head to engulf it in the wet heat of his mouth, sucking hard. She arched into his kisses, crying out at the new layer of sensation.

His other hand left her hip to slip down between them where they were joined and stroke against her there, finding her clitoris to press against the sensitized bundle of nerves, and she writhed against him, her hips bucking, rhythm destroyed as she neared climax again, body beginning to tighten around him. He gritted his teeth, determined to see her go up another time,determined to last once more, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

"I love you, my Mary, so much," he gasped holding her tightly to him.

She pressed a kiss against his throat. "My Marshall. Love you, too."

Their mouths, met, clung.

"Say it again," his hands held her hips, his mouth was urgent on hers again.

"Love you....oh God, Marshall..." her voice trailed off as he rocked his hips, and they both dissolved together.

It would be much, much later before they would be able to even think about calling room service.

* * *

**Some key lime because it was requested and because after everything, they deserve it. There are still a couple more places to take them, folks. I hope you're not tired of them yet. R&R.  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I've given up trying to figure out how long this one is going to roll on. I can only say that I do know how it will end. These two just keep on popping up with new places they want to take me. Thanks, also, to all my wonderful reader/reviewers for your wonderful input. You may see me start to shift back to alternating between Good Intentions and this story soon, though, because that Mary and Marshall (and Margaret) are starting to get a bit hacked off about being in limbo for so long..... Enjoy.....**

* * *

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

~George Carlin, Brain Droppings, 1997

Night is the blotting paper for many sorrows. ~Author Unknown

* * *

Marshall lay beside Mary in the big luxurious bed of the penthouse suite at the Phoenix Dream, her body snugly and warmly curled into his, the fingers of one hand laced with his. He'd been having some trouble getting to sleep the past two or three days. Even after making love to Mary, his mind didn't want to disengage and let him stay asleep. He'd awakened after a short doze and was now staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the release of sleep or the coming of morning.

_Insomnia is to be expected, I guess. It's just transition, coming off the pain medicine, getting my body used to a more normal sleep routine. This is a new environment still, with new sounds, new things to react to, and I'm not used to it yet. That's got to be part of it, too. This will pass. _

He fought the urge to get up, to pace, to do _something_. It was the middle of the night. What was there for him to do?_ There's also the fact that I'm restless. Two weeks is the longest I've been off the job since...well...ever.... Four more to go before I'm officially cleared, and I have no idea how I'm going to make it. Maybe they will let me start pulling some half days.... _

He thought of the psych evaluation that was going to be a mandatory part of his clearance and grimaced up into the darkness. His innate sense of privacy was offended by the thought of having to bare his soul about Mary, about the situations surrounding the abduction.

_There are some roads I don't want to walk down.... Besides, I'm fine. What is there that needs to be said? I don't need to see a psychiatrist to know that I am a little rattled still by the Ramirez abduction. Who wouldn't be? I don't think it's anything a little R&R won't cure. Still, if it will get me back to the job faster, maybe I will call them and see if they will go ahead and set up an appointment...._

Marshall shifted his position, glad that the motion no longer caused pain to lance through him. He cautiously looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms, but Mary simply murmured something wordless and uneasy, burrowed her face into his shoulder with a frown, her hand coming up to wrap around him as if she were afraid he was going to disappear. He stroked the hand curled around her shoulders down her bare back to rest on her wings in a soothing motion, and her brow smoothed as she sighed, the warm exhalation filling his ear. He smiled as he studied the lines of her in the dim light of the suite.

_My beautiful, fierce Mary. Trying to protect me from the monsters even in her sleep. _

His smile dimmed, faded. In its place, a frown of his own grew. His fingertips gently traced the outline of the wing pattern from hip to hip where it spread, found the scar beneath it with a repetitive and musing touch that he was not even aware of as his thoughts led him down dark alleys.

_But she never should have had to protect me. It should have been the other way around. I am a U.S. Marshal. I have the training, the experience. I am not supposed to wind up tied up to a metal cot in a shed by a damned psychopath. I'm supposed to be the one kicking down the doors and rescuing the people in distress. _Family photos, images of five generations of tall, proud relatives with badges and guns flitted through his mind, filled him with an unbearable shame that burned like the touch of acid. _Bet none of them ever wound up tied down and carved up...._

For a moment, his shoulder itched uncontrollably, but he fought the desire to scratch it, settled for rubbing it gently against the mattress. _Mind over matter. At least I can win this battle. At least I'm not useless with this one._

His mouth twisted. _But I was useless when it counted, wasn't I? She had to kill for me, and I? I was just...just...bait. Led her into danger when I was supposed to be protecting her, forced her into a place where she had to take a life when I was supposed to be the one out in front, got her backed into a corner trying to save me that resulted in her having to allow her worst nightmare to lay hands on her again. _

The motion of his hand stopped, and his fingers curled protectively around her hip, pulling her closer to him. He heard her sleepy voice whisper his name, slip back under.

_And what would have happened if Thea hadn't been in the woods? If Raph had demanded more proof of her? How far would she have gone to have saved me? It was already too far as it was..._

He was taut, tense, sad, angry, and his shoulder still itched. He could practically feel the shape of the incisions that were even now healing into neat scars on his shoulders burning into him, wiggling as though they were living things burrowing their way into his flesh, and he longed suddenly to claw at them, rip them with his nails, be free of them. _But I'm never going to be free of them, am I?_

He lay very still, as still as if he had been carved out of marble or stone, and the fiery runes on his shoulders continued to burn their way into his thoughts as the minutes of the night clicked away.

---

Four mostly sleepless nights of recrimination later, Marshall pleaded off going out with Mary. "I'm just tired, Mare. Okay? You go with your friends. I...I haven't been resting well, and I think I'm going to try to get a little sleep. I'm feeling a bit run down tonight."

Mary looked at him with concern. "I'll call the guys and cancel. We'll both stay home. A night in is fine by me." _I didn't even notice that he hasn't been sleeping right. _ Guilt flared up in her as she noticed the darkness shadowing him beneath the eyes, the weariness in his movements.

"No...no, don't give up anything you want to do just because I'm a little out of sorts. Really. Go. Do. Have fun. I'll feel bad if you don't. You shouldn't have to suffer because of my weakness." He forced a smile to his lips, took her hand and brought it up for his customary kiss. "Go have fun enough for us both. All I'm going to do is lay here anyway. Super un-fun stuff."

Mary studied him for a long moment. She was not deceived. _Something is wrong. All the little bells are jangling. Something here is very, very wrong. But...._ "Okay. Tell you what. I'll go out with this bunch for a little while, you rest up, and when I get back, we'll have enough fun together to make up for anything you might possibly have missed. How does that grab you?" She gave him her best lascivious grin. Her eyes were still sharp, still watchful.

He returned a small smile and leaned up through the sea of his weariness to kiss her because he knew it was expected. "Sure. Sounds good. I'll be here when you get back. Tell Thea I said hello." He shooed her out the door, and as she was leaving, she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into nothing.

She paused outside the door, keys in hand, turning the situation over in her head furiously. _No innuendo, not a trace or interest, not even an arch of that brow, just a tolerating sort of pat on the head to get me out the door. What the FUCK was that? He's never, ever treated me that way before.... _She had her hand on the door to go back in and confront him about it when his words came back to her...._haven't been resting very well....going to try to get a little sleep._

"Well, you better sleep whatever that is that's wrong with you off, Marshall Mann. Because...because...that, that was NOT you," she muttered, disconcerted and angry because of it. She

turned to go to the elevator, and while she was waiting for it to rise, she thought of a half a dozen reasons to go back to their suite, to force Marshall to talk to her. In the end, though, she decided to respect his request, and she went downstairs and got in the Charger to drive to the restaurant where her friends were gathering for dinner.

---

Marshall decided to take an over-the-counter sleeping pill for once so there was no chance of him not resting and with the drug, sleep had actually come fairly quickly once Mary was gone. Marshall was too tired to wonder much at that and too grateful for the release of it as it dragged him under. _Finally...._

He slept deeply, unmoving, his body pulling him quickly into the healing sleep it needed. He was still asleep when Mary came back, and she was careful not to disturb him as she went into the entertainment area to read for awhile, still too keyed up from her night out to settle yet.

_At least he's sleeping now_, she thought, running worried eyes over him. She hadn't been able to enjoy her time with her friends. Her mind had returned again and again to her last conversation with Marshall, to a dozen little things over the past several days that had been like tiny discordant tones warning of a larger fracture or break that was immanent. _He'll feel better once he's slept some. And maybe I'll sleep in here tonight so he can rest undisturbed. Maybe I'm keeping him up somehow.... _She shook her head and settled in with the book, trying to put it out of her mind.

She read for a couple of hours, finishing the novel, then checked on him again. He was still in exactly the same position. It was as though someone had cut the current to him, flipped a switch and cut him off. She wanted so much to go over and lay a hand on him, to check on him, but something restrained her. The light from her reading lamp highlighted the angles and planes of his face, casting one half of his face into shadow, and she felt unaccountably cold. _Best to leave him be tonight. Everything will be okay in the morning. Tomorrow he'll be fine._

She got an extra blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch. As sleep found her, she drew herself up into a protective ball beneath the warm covers.

---

Mary awoke to screaming, harsh, ragged, pain-filled. It was the sound of someone being pushed beyond the limits of endurance. The scream echoed, then stopped, was followed by the sounds of a scuffle. _Marshall. _She switched on the lamp beside her, fought her way out of the blanket that wrapped itself around her as though deliberately hampering her from getting to him, hitting the floor as it tangled her feet together.

"Marshall! What is it? Marshall? I'm coming!" She scrambled across the floor on her knees before regaining her feet in her haste to get to him. She pulled herself up using the arm of the chair, and then ran through the darkened suite to the doorway of the bedroom and then toward the bed.

She collided with something warm and human, and hands grabbed at her, gripped her hard, and threw her. She landed on the bed, but it dimly registered that this had been by happy accident only. _Oh my God. What the hell...Is this Marshall? What in the...._

She could hear panting breath and as her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, she made out his outline standing by the bed. He was shaking, every muscle in his body tensed, and his eyes, although open, did not truly see her.

"Marshall..." she began, her voice low, soothing. A curl of very real fear unfurled itself deep inside her. _He's not there. Where is my Marshall? He's not there. He's with the monsters...._

His teeth bared, and he lunged at her sudden and savage as a starved tiger. "Don't you touch me again. Never again! I can't take it again!" Mary tried to dodge, but his hands around her with bruising strength and he flung her back on the bed, straddled her.

She fought him in earnest now, called out to him. "Marshall! Marshall, goddamit! Wake up, WAKE UP!" His hands were creeping up to span her throat, a deep animal noise coming from him. She fought him harder. _No, no, no, and NO. A thousand times no. This cannot be fucking HAPPENING. _She clawed at his hands leaving a bloody weal down his forearm as she tried to pull him away, and she scissored her legs hard managing to dislodge him. She rolled away, trying to get off the bed, only to feel his hand close on her ankle.

"You won't get away from me. I am going to end you. Won't let you use me to hurt her anymore. Won't let you make me your bait animal." Marshall drew her back toward him inexorably, muttering unintelligible things beneath his breath.

"Marshall, for the love of God, wake up!" she screamed. "Fucking wake up!" She grabbed for something, for anything that she might use to help her. She didn't want to injure him, but she couldn't let him do whatever it was he was going to do to the monster in his head.... She saw a glass of water on the nightstand, and she grabbed it and dashed the contents in his face.

He froze, and she saw sentience return to his eyes with a snap. He looked down at her sprawled on the bed, terror in her eyes, at his hand wrapped around her ankle, and she could see the connections snapping into place, could almost hear them clicking. He pulled his hand off her as if she were red hot, his hand flying up to ward off the scene in front of him, and he stumbled away from her.

"No. NO. _NO_. I did not do this thing. _I DID NOT DO THIS THING_. Tell me that I...that I..." and he hit the far wall away from her and slid down it, hands coming up to pull fiercely at his own hair, as though he were trying to tear it out in clumps.

Mary pulled herself upright, trying to recover from the insanity of the last few minutes, and as she did so, she saw him begin to rock back and forth slightly. She lowered herself to the floor and crawled across to where he was, sat cross-legged beside him.

"Marshall," she began hesitantly, reaching a hand to touch him, careful in the face of so much naked pain and suffering.

He looked up at her with blue eyes iced over with pain, leaned away from her hand as though the touch of it would shatter him, whispered harshly, "Don't. Oh God, Mary, just don't." He rested his head against his drawn-up knees, and she saw that his entire body was trembling.

"It's okay, Marshall. I know you didn't mean to. It was just...it was a nightmare. I'm okay. Really. Look at me."

He raised his head, and the light she saw in his eyes frightened her far more than the madman grappling with her in the dark had done. A smile she had never seen on his face before, a cynical hard smile, twisted that mouth she loved so much, and even before she spoke, she knew she would hate his words...

"Just how many times are you going to forgive me for failing you, Mary? Just how many wounds are you going to allow me to cause you? How many do-overs do I get?" The smile disappeared like a taut cord cut in the middle by a sharp knife. His tone was sharp and cold, newly-broken ice.

"It's not okay. None of what has happened is okay. Do you not realize that I could have killed you just now? Are you going to keep letting me fail you right up to the point where I get you killed? Or even better than that, and wouldn't this be too damn ironic for words, fail you to death by my very own worthless hands? Do you not see that when you stopped me I had you in...in... the same fucking position as....as....as..." Mary did not miss that he could not say the name. "As _he_ did in Mississippi that night when I first found you? Mary, you have _bruises_ on your body that _I_ put there....."

Mary sat very still. That sense of being near a hungry and savage animal was back, but this time, she knew Marshall was wide awake. This was much more about his first horrible statement, much more about what he'd yelled at her during the dream when he'd been killing Raph, and much less about his guilt about five minutes ago. Dangerous, dangerous..... How to proceed?

She decided to try logic. "Marshall, I don't blame you for any of what's happened, not tonight, not two weeks ago, not any of it. You were not in control of any of that. That was all on Raphael, on his insanity." She cautiously laid a hand on his forearm just over the bleeding gash she'd made in her effort to escape him. "This tonight, too, was his fault, more fruit of his sickness. I cannot place his failings on your shoulders." _Please hear me, Marshall. Please listen._

Marshall looked at her, and for a moment, she thought she was going to win, thought the monsters were going to be beaten, but then his gaze flickered downwards to her hand and the bloody nail slashes she'd had to claw on him. She saw his eyes harden again.

"You forgive too much, Mary. Much more than I'm able to. I promised to keep you safe and then....well," he laughed, harsh, brutal, soft flesh raking over broken glass, "we all know how that turned out. I give you promises of love, tell you everything I have is yours in the moonlight, and then the next thing you know, I'm trying to destroy you in the darkness. I think I'm not good for you or safe for you, Mary Shannon." He nodded as though coming to a decision, as though settling something within himself.

Fear and anger surged up in her, and her hand on his arm gripped hard with no regard to the blood that smeared her palm. "What the fuck, Marshall? Since when do you get to say what is good or safe for me? Who died and made you god emperor of the world, especially my little corner of it?"

He tried to turn his head away from her cursing softly under his breath, and she reached out with that blood-smeared palm, grabbed his chin and forced his face back toward hers. "What makes you think you're so special that you can control it all? Tell me that for a minute. Tell me why you should get to be different than the rest of us?"

The depths of the pain and confusion in the eyes that met hers thoroughly and immediately quenched the fire of her anger. "Because..." and his voice broke, causing him to stop, to wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before trying to speak again, "because..I have training and experience that should have made what happened to me an impossibility." His voice lowered, became a whisper. "Because...because...I love you and the idea that he used me to bring you pain, to make you kill, when I should have been standing in front of you to take it in your place is intolerable. It's destroying me." She saw one tear fall and he brought a hand up to dash angrily at his eyes.

She scooted over next to him and pulled him into her arms. His trembling was increasingly violent. It felt as though his entire body was going to shake apart. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. He did not resist her this time, but he did not embrace her in return, either. _Small victories, I guess,_ she thought.

"Listen to me very carefully, Marshall Mann. I want to tell you something, and I want it to sink in through that hard damn head of yours. I love you. So that means that I'm not keeping score here. There is no tally sheet of what you owe me or what I owe you. When you need me, I'm here for whatever you need me for. If that means taking my knife and cutting my way through the 3rd Army Division, then, well, quite frankly, I'll probably have to call Thea for backup, but I'm still your girl. I expect the same from you." She felt him try to pull away, shifting miserably in her grasp. She held on hard.

"I didn't say that to rub salt in an open wound. Jesus, Marshall, don't you think I know that if you'd been able you'd have killed him? Haven't you saved me before? Didn't you keep him from...from...raping and killing me that night in Mississippi? If anything, we're just now evening up the scores if you insist on keeping them." He stirred, still twisting, still seeking escape, tears now sliding down his cheeks one after the other. She refused to release him, dug deep into herself and prepared to lay down a card that she'd kept in reserve, a card it would be painful to play. _But this is a game I have to win. The stakes are to high to fold now...._

"So let me get this straight then. I just want to clarify things. By your math, then, I'm weak, too. You think I'm to blame for what he did to me when he ambushed me and cut me from hip to hip?"

Marshall jerked in her arms, startled, stilled. "What? Hell no. Of course not. There's no way you could have stopped him once he..." His voice trailed off.

She leaned back away from him, looked him straight in the eyes and finished for him. "Once he snared me, caught me, took away my ability to defend myself. All my tactics for defense, all my planning, all my training didn't mean squat after that. You're absolutely right. And Marshall, let me tell you something. He didn't go to half the trouble with me that he went to when he took you."

His gaze was wounded, lost, but meeting hers. "But," he started softly.

"No," she said, gently placing a finger over his lips. "No buts, no if onlys, no I should haves. What is, is. You cannot change it. If you failed by getting rammed by a goddamn Tahoe out on that sideroad and knocked unconscious, then I failed when he ambushed me in the basement and dragged me out. No double-standards. Choose your rules, Marshall, and decide."

Marshall reached up and took her hand in his, turned it palm up, squinted down at it, traced the lines he found in it gently with a fingertip. "When I realized that he wasn't just going to kill me, when I realized he wasn't going to make me one of his hideous valentines to you, I was so furious. He told me what he had in mind, and he laughed when I told him that I was going to kill him. He laughed and he beat me. I think that was when he cracked my ribs."

Mary's heart broke for him, but she didn't move. He needed to say this, needed to bleed this wound. She knew all too well. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I couldn't stop him. I heard him making that deal with you on the phone, and I couldn't stop him. I knew he was going just going to catch you somewhere and kill us both.... He told me everything he was going to do to you before he killed you. He had a very graphic, sick, detailed mind..... He would come in and explain it while he was cutting on me.....and I couldn't stop him. I couldn't...couldn't...."

Knowing Raph as she had, she could imagine the things Marshall had been forced to hear. She turned her hand in his, slid her fingers through his, closed their hands together tightly. "It's hard. I know. It's hard because you keep going over it again and again, thinking there is something you could have done, something you should have done to make things turn out differently. But you know what? You will make yourself fucking crazy if you keep doing that. Besides, did you ever consider that you did stop him? You got free of those bonds, and you found a way to warn me. I didn't go to that meeting. He didn't get his hands on me and do those things."

He flexed his fingers in her grasp, returned it with strength of his own. "I guess." His voice sounded uncertain, but he looked up at her as though longing to believe it. _He's starting to come back to me. _

She said softly, "And as for tonight, well..." She felt him tense again, but she pushed on through. "There might be more nights like tonight, quite frankly. But I know they're coming and you know they're coming, and I will by God knock you unconscious on your ass for real if you try that shit with me again."

He smiled, just a flicker of his normal smile, but she saw it, and felt relief flood her. "That's my girl. Put me on my ass if you have to. I'm calling the departmental counselor tomorrow as well. I should have done it last week when I started having trouble sleeping, but had no idea that I would... that I ever could..."

_Head him off before he dives back into guilt. _"Turn into an extra from a bad kung-fu zombie flick?"

Again, that flicker of a smile. "That much fun was it?"

"Wish I had it on tape for you to watch. I think you actually had me airborne at one point."

He drew her into his arms gently, softly, as if she were made of glass. "I'm sorry, Mary. I'm so sorry. It's so inadequate to say it, but I don't know what else to say. You know I would rather die myself than cause you pain, don't you?"

She held him, just a softly, just as carefully, conscious that it was not her fragility on the line at the moment, and she put aside all wisecracks and humor. "I do know it. So I want you to do something for me just for tonight then. I'll feel a lot better if you will."

She felt him go very still in her arms, could almost hear those myriad little wheels in his head grinding to a halt. He sat back and looked at her, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was expecting her to ask him to sleep on the couch or step away from her in some way. His face was an impassive mask as he slipped his hands down her arms to hold her hands loosely. _Oh Marshall. A prelude to letting go, isn't it?_

"Name it," he said, his voice straining for lightness, "and it's yours."

"Just for tonight, I'm going to ask you to stop beating the hell out of yourself. Just for tonight, I'm going to ask you to let it all go. You said you would rather die than cause me pain. Well, you're causing me pain right now. Lay it down tonight, Marshall, and tomorrow, we'll face those demons together."

The relief that filled his eyes was a tangible thing. _Silly man. Did you really think I'd throw you away? I'm many things, but I'm no fool.... Even an uncut diamond is still a diamond._ She allowed him to pull her into his arms, and he held her tightly against him, his hand sliding up her back to cradle her head. "For you, Mary, for you, for tonight, I'll lay it down. Somehow, I'll find a way," he whispered, and he turned his face to hers, pressed his lips to her forehead briefly.

"Good," she said, studying his face with a smile. "Now let's get off this damn floor. J.P. may put good carpet in these rooms, but I'm almost positive the bed has to be more comfortable for sleeping than this wall." She stood up, pulled him to his feet, and led him by the hand back to the bed. He trailed behind her reluctantly, stood beside the bed stock-still as she smoothed the rumpled covers back into a semblance of their normal neatness, slid into them, patted the mattress beside her.

"Are you sure? I mean, I can take the couch....I should probably sleep on the couch. What if I had another...what if..."

She reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugged to pull him down. "This is not laying it down, Marshall. What did you promise me?"

He allowed her to unbalance him and fell onto the bed beside her, still clearly uneasy. She curled into him, forcing him to wrap his arms around her, nudging his legs with her own until she could slip hers between his. She slid her hand up his chest to cup his cheek tenderly. His eyes met hers, still little-boy lost, and she wished she could find a way to drive away all the monsters in the dark for him. _But that's the thing about monsters in the dark....everybody has to find a way to fight his own, whether it's with wings or knives or tin stars. I won't let him stand alone while he's figuring it out, though...nobody has to be alone while they're learning to fight them._

She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. "Now kiss me goodnight, Marshall, and tell me you love me." Her tone was soft and just a little playful, but the serious was so close to the surface a good breath would have knocked the top layer away and revealed it.

Something in his eyes shifted, and she saw in them what she needed to chase her own monsters back into the darkness as he tilted his head to bring his mouth down to hers. He pressed his lips against hers gently, lingeringly, once, twice, a third time so sweet she felt it in the wings on her back and all the way down to her toes. His arms gathered her to him as he spoke promises without words, answered her unspoken question. He pulled away, pressed a kiss to both her closed eyelids, and nestled her against his shoulder. "Good night, Mary. I love you."

Her hand wrapped around his back, sought the edge of his shirt and slipped under it to splay against the warm, smooth, strong muscles and skin there. She sighed and nuzzled into his neck. "Good night, Marshall. I love you, too. I've got you. Go to sleep, and don't dream any more tonight."

He laid his own hand against the wings at her waist and closed his eyes. They were both asleep within minutes.

* * *

**What can I say except for...R&R?**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Masks is done, and it was time to revisit FT. This is just a brief chapter to get all your mental gears meshing...and maybe my own, too.... Warning: I just watched the last David Tennant episode of Dr. Who, and I'm a bit in mourning over the exit of my beautiful Tenth Doctor, but I'm also rather abuzz with all sorts of plot twists since that was the twistiest bit of plotting I've ever seen anywhere. Kudos to the Beeb and its writers.

* * *

**

Whenever it is possible, a boy should choose some occupation which he should do even if he did not need the money.

~William Lyon Phelps

If a man love the labour of any trade apart from any question of success or fame, the gods have called him.

~Robert Louis Stevenson

* * *

Mary was just about to get in her car when it happened. She was running late for a lunch with Thea, as usual, and she needed to make serious time if she was going to avoid an irritated phone call from her friend who happened to be in town for a few days. Mary sighed and was just about to push the button to disarm the car alarm and unlock the door when the voice from the shadows stopped her.

"Mary Shannon. Getting to you these days is tougher than seeing the fucking President. You know that?"

She stopped, fingers sliding a few millimeters to the panic button on the remote. She moved her other hand toward the knife she had in a sheath between her shoulderblades under the long jacket she wore. She'd gotten considerably more wary (okay, maybe paranoid was a better word for it) since Raph and was considerably more heavily armed than she used to be, with blades accessible from several locations. She still refused to carry a gun.

"Step out into the light so I can see you. I don't talk to creeps in the shadows." She knew she wasn't so far away from the security booth of the garage that she couldn't yell or trip her car alarm and not get help, but this was still a situation designed to make her uneasy.

Laughter echoed from the darkness in the corner. A tall, handsome, dark-haired man stepped out wearing a long coat and faded-out jeans. "Not even when they've come half-way around the world to see you, baby?" He held his hands out to his side as if he was expecting her to run up and embrace him.

_Shit on a cracker. Tom Gray. Who knew he'd ever have the nerve to show up here again? _Her hands went limp on the key chain as he took her shock for invitation and swept her up in a hard hug and pressed his lips to hers.

---

She shoved Gray back a half-step, but not before he had taken advantage of her moment of confusion to the fullest extent he and his nimble hands were able. His arms remained around her. She glared at him from narrowed eyes as he continued to give her a sunny grin, unfazed completely by her forceful rejection.

"What's the matter, gorgeous? Want me to coax you sweet instead? 'Cause I've never known you to tell me no for long." He leaned back down to nuzzle her ear.

Tom Gray and she had a long history together. She'd known him before Raph, and they'd worked several jobs together. He, like she herself, had a passion for fast machines and dangerous situations. He had excellent connections, and together they'd stolen cars, run cons, and on one very memorable occasion, robbed a museum together. The vacation they'd treated themselves to afterward had also been memorable....

During her time with Raph, Tom had disappeared. Mary had never been sure if it had been his innate instinct for surviving or if Raph had threatened him. After Raph's first "death," Tom had returned, and he had been one of the first men she'd taken to her bed after the tattoo, one of the only ones who didn't fear the "complications" implied by the scar beneath it. Tom didn't really fear anything. It was his defining characteristic. There had been a grand falling out nonetheless waiting in the wings for them, however....

"Get your damn hands off me, Thomas Gray, if you want to keep them," she growled, trying to disentangle herself from him.

"Oh, yeah, let's play that game. God, baby, you know how much I love that game...." his voice dropped a seductive octave in her ear, and he pulled her closer again.

Mary slipped a hand down, brought out one of her lesser blades, and brought it back up to press lightly against his groin. Gray froze, eyes still amused as he looked at her.

"So I guess suddenly now no really means no?" He removed his hands from her slowly, held them palms up as if she had a gun trained on him.

"Gee, ya think, Tom?"

"Well, I always was a fast learner with these things..."

_No. That was the problem. You weren't. _

"But Jesus, Mary. How the hell was I supposed to know? You used to like our little...games..."

"We all change, Tom. That was then." She gave the knife a little flick into the air for emphasis. "This is now." Another tiny flick. She sheathed the blade. "Clear?"

"Oh yeah. Crystalline."

She sighed. "Fantastic. So why are you here? I'm assuming you didn't come and lie in wait down here just to cop a feel."

Tom's engaging grin reappeared. "Might have done for a feel of that sweet, sweet..." He broke off with a chuckle when her hand slipped back toward the hidden blade. "No, no....I'm here because, sweetness, have I got a job for you."

Mary felt her phone buzz, and she looked down at the caller ID. Thea, just as she'd suspected. She was now ten minutes late. "I need you to hold that thought, Tom." She pressed answer and walked slightly away, making sure she at no point turned her back to him.

---

"Tom _Gray_? Are you out of your freakin' mind? I'll be there in five minutes. Three."

"Thea. I can handle this. I can handle him."

"Yeah. I seem to remember how all that _handling_ went and where it lead to as well. How many times has he put his hands on your ass since he showed up?"

Mary was silent for a minute. "Not more than twice."

"Shit. Three minutes. And I will kick that trash on out to the curb if you won't do it."

"He says he has a job."

Silence. "A...what?"

"You know. That thing most people have to do to get money? Work? Gainful employment?"

"Mary. If it's coming from Tom, what are the chances that it's even remotely legit? Think really hard about this. Really hard. Has he ever gotten a straight job in his whole life? Sure, he's slick and pretty, and from everything you've ever told me he's really good at what he does, but is that what you want for yourself now? Right now, you are squared up with the Fed. No warrants, no high-speed chases, no posters up in post offices. You are a free woman. Marshall had to work damn hard to get that for you. You had to, too. Think about what it almost cost _both_ of you, honey. Do you want to throw all that away?"

"You're right, but..."

"But what? What could possibly be the comeback to that?"

Mary shuffled her feet and sighed. "I don't know. I've just been feeling...restless lately. Marshall has been cleared for work, and he's back out doing what he does best, isn't he? You're back out there making 'freedom free' again or whatever the hell it is that you do, and I'm....I'm...what am I doing, Thea?"

"Honey, we'll figure it out together, but you know as well as I do that Tom Gray does not need to be part of the answer to that question. For a variety of reasons. I mean, come _on_ girl....can you imagine the fireworks if Mr. Happy Grab Ass and Marshall wind up in the same room together?"

Mary grinned. "Yeah...no, that would be a very, very bad thing. You're right."

"So ditch him and get over here so we can start figuring this stuff out. I have margaritas waiting. All things can be resolved with the help of Jose. You've got ten or I'll be there. And you know I will be. And you know what will happen if I have to be."

"Thanks, Thea."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on. I'm hungry, and they're not going to give me any more chips and salsa until you get here."

Mary hung up the phone and turned around. Tom was leaning casually against one of the support pillars a discrete distance away, scrolling through his email on his cellphone. He looked up as she walked toward him.

"Tom, thanks for thinking about me, really, but I don't think I'm taking any jobs at the present time."

He made an exaggerated moue of disappointment. "Baby, you always did know how to get me right here." He reached out and pressed delicately right over her heart, which of course put his hand perilously near her breasts....

She sighed and rolled her eyes, "Tom. Really. _Knives_. I have lots and lots of nasty, sharp, pointy knives, remember?"

He grinned, pulled his hand back, and leaned down to press a fast kiss on her lips. "You can't blame a man for trying, sweetheart. Not when the temptation is as strong as you." He raked his playful blue eyes over her once more, shot her a wink, and then turned and began walking over to a sleek dark gray sports car.

_I'd forgotten that. He always drives gray cars. How...corny.... And I used to sleep with this guy? _ Memories of things she'd done with him in the backseats of those fast sleek foreign cars came to her mind, and she had to laugh a little. _Okay, so maybe he does have one or two redeeming qualities...._

"Look, Mary, if you should change your mind, I'll be around for the next two or three days. I may even drop in at the Phoenix Dream and pay my respects to Mr. Shannon for old time's sake. Those who know us will know how to get in touch with me. There's nobody I'd rather have with me on this than you, babe."

She just waved her hand, and he got in the car, and pulled away with the sound of a powerful engine. She shook her head slightly at old memory, at the idea of temptation avoided, at the thought of new lives and new ways of being, and she got in the Charger to head across town before Thea could really get angry and make good on her threat to come over.

She never saw the person with the highpowered camera in the dark sedan snapping photo after photo as she pulled away.

---

While Marshall was back at work, he wasn't going out in the field much yet. He'd requested and received a transfer to this regional office based in Las Vegas. Things were very different here... He was taking care of the planning end of strikes and captures, and it seemed as though endless rivers of paperwork flowed across his desk. His body was almost completely recovered from the encounter with Ramirez, but his superior officers had not yet seen fit to put him back into his normal rotation.

It was starting to chafe.

Every time he saw a squad being put together and he remained stuck behind his desk, he wondered why. Every time they went out the door, that part of him that had chased Mary down that alley on their first day yearned to be with them, straining at this unexplained restraint like a big dog on a tight leash.

He closed the folder on the third set-up for a tactical squad he'd prepared that day and sighed. He opened a drawer to rummage around for a paper clip, and he found a lone loose zip-tie that had been packed up amongst all the bits and pieces there. He drew it out of the drawer and spun it on the desk, thinking about Mary, about their beginning, about all the things that had passed between them so far.

His new boss passed him headed for his office and broke his reverie. Marshall gathered up the folder and started after him.

"Sir, can I talk to you a minute?"

His boss detoured into the office's small kitchen area and grabbed his mug from the sink. "Sure, Mann. Let me grab some coffee, and I'll be right with you."

Marshall waited as he prepared the beverage and the two men walked back to the office together.

"What's up? Problems with that tactical I gave you this morning?" His boss, Marshal John Dailey, studied Marshall over the edge of the coffee cup.

"No. There are no problems with it, sir. In fact, I have it here."

"Good." Dailey took it and perused it, nodding as he flipped through the various pages and forms. "Very good. I'll get this to the team and we'll get this thing moving, then. Excellent job, as always." He looked back up at Marshall. "What else was there, then?"

Marshall decided simply to take the bull by the horns. "I was wondering why I am still ju

st planning these instead of being allowed to help execute them, sir, to be honest. I was cleared for a return to active duty by medical a week ago."

Dailey took a slow sip of the hot beverage and then sat the mug down. He folded his fingers together. Finally, he spoke. "Marshall...you've been through an extremely traumatic experience...."

"A fact of which I am very well aware, sir. Respectfully."

"....and to be honest, we want to give you just a little more time to re-acclimatise, to...limber up, if you will, before we start throwing you hard balls again."

"I see, sir. And how much longer do you see this period of re-adjustment taking?"

"Oh, probably not that much longer. You're showing every sign of strong recovery. You're still going to your counseling sessions, and all the reports from there are positive as well, so just be patient, okay? Trust me. We want you back just as much as you want to be back."

_That I doubt. There's no way anybody could want me to be back in the heart of the action as much as I want to be back there myself....._

Marshall rose and forced a little smile of compliance. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, sir."

Dailey rose, shook his hand. "Anytime, Marshall. Anytime. That door is always open for you."

As Marshall left, Dailey pushed the door closed and walked over to his phone. He dialed a number and waited. The greeting on the other end was terse.

"Have you got it yet? Were you successful?"

The reply on the other end seemed to frustrate him.

"Bring in what you do have as soon as possible. We'll have to work with it. We're not going to be able to wait much longer."

Another comment on the other end buzzed briefly.

"Then be more careful. I've already told you what's at stake here."

He hung up the phone with a gesture just short of a slam and walked to the windows looking out. As a rule, he hated to leave important things to others, preferred the satisfaction and comfort of doing them himself, but really, truly, this was one situation where he just couldn't. He sat back down, picked up his mug of coffee, took a deep swallow, and flipped open the folder Marshall had left behind.

* * *

**Comments? Guesses? Wails of Despair? Let me know. **

**None of it's mine except the way I make 'em dance.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: The thot plickens.... I welcome your feedback on this one, particularly since it's heading in this new direction. It may be a bit early still for you to tell where it's going, but if you do have anything to add, I'd be grateful for the input. As always, it's unfolding slowly. **

* * *

When written in Chinese the word "crisis" is composed of two characters - one represents danger and the other represents opportunity.

~John F. Kennedy, address, 12 April 1959

* * *

It was two days later when Dailey called a team meeting. The Las Vegas Fugitive Task Force Marshals filed into the briefing room with their usual mixture of humor and grumbling. They were not by nature people who sat in meetings well. They sat impatiently in the plastic chairs, minds already impatiently on other things, on resolving whatever this new situation or challenge about to be placed before them was rather than being caged in to hear it.

When Dailey stepped to the front of the darkened room and called for the lights to be dimmed, the murmuring and traded insults died away almost immediately. The projector clicked on, an image of the official seal of the U.S. Marshal Service suddenly illuminating the screen behind him. The light of the machine gave his already blue eyes an unnatural brightness, almost as if they were being lit from within.

"We will be sending members of this office to join forces with law enforcement from California, Nevada, and Arizona to do a massive round-up of fugitives currently at large there. The area we will be covering has Las Vegas as a loose regional hub, so we won't be treading on any of the other office's toes, as it were." He smirked briefly and paused to take a sip of coffee. The map of the region gleamed on the screen behind him as the projector hummed quietly.

"You will be on the road quite a bit with this little endeavor, and some of it is going to be nasty business. We're looking at everything from bail jumpers to a couple of very serious cases they are waiting on our expertise to help with. They need both brains and brawn from us." He swept his eyes over the assembled men and women a moment, looked back down at the notes.

From the back somebody called out, "Aw, not beauty, too?"

Dailey looked up briefly. "No. Beauty is not required. Therefore, O'Connor, we can take you along with no problem." Laughter ran out in the small room.

"Of course, not everybody will be going. We can't wipe out our office here to help out the locals. Duties for those of you who stay may be temporarily increased if need arises. Let us all hope we go through a quiet spell." Again, his lips turned up in that humorless little curl.

"Marshals, that is all. You will be contacted throughout the day about your assignments as the team is formed and briefed more completely. Dismissed."

They rose almost as a body, lean and hungry as a pack of muscular hunting hounds. The conversation as the group left the room was about who would be going, about what would be involved. Perhaps inevitably, war stories were unearthed, memories swapped of similar situations, of captures gone well or horribly wrong. Marshall was with them as they walked, and he smiled or commiserated with this new group that was in so many ways a family to him. He added stories that made them laugh or groan.

He couldn't shake the nagging feeling, however, as he got back to his desk and began to shuffle the papers there that Dailey's eyes had lingered on him a little longer than they should have when they'd talked about those who would be remaining behind....

---

Mary was pacing John Patrick's office. Periodically, she'd pause to lift one of the beautiful and rare objects scattered here or there and turn it over in her hands as if admiring or inspecting it, but her mind was in high gear and far away.

The subtle ache that she'd been largely able to sublimate before Tom Gray's unexpected appearance in the parking garage had grown teeth and sunk them deep into her. Her wings were itching to spread wide, her love of the challenge, her need to pit herself against the impossible and escape it, fists full of proof of her life, full of the proof of her victory over everything that had ever tried to conquer her.

Always before, when this urge arose, she'd gathered her crew, chosen her target, and headed out to wage her subtle war. She'd been free to dance away at the whim of a moment to track whatever prize seemed to offer her the most challenge, the greatest satisfaction, and she'd never had any impediment.

Now things were different.

She sat the heavy carved wood figure in her hands back down on the table with a thump and a sigh and slapped her hands lightly against her legs in frustration.

_Different is good, though, right? I mean, Thea's right. It's good not to have to keep looking over my shoulder all the time. And some of those jobs got way, way, way out of hand. That last one McNeil was setting up. That one had the potential to get wild as hell. I'm not even sure even I could have gotten in and out of __**that**__ facility._

She took another turn around the room, a tiger in a cage, stalking, stalking.

_But hell, I miss it. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what to do with myself now. And I hate this...nothingness. I feel like I'm just drifting along. Maybe that's why I want that so badly._

_Then again, maybe it's just like an addiction, and this is a withdrawal pain. Maybe if I can resist it, the craving will pass. _

_I mean, look at what I've gained, right? I love Marshall. I love him. And if I were to pull a job...._

The complications and chaos of that scenario tumbled through her mind in images and sensations rather than words: _handcuffs, running, a sharp knife slicing a thick cord, solitude in an endless cold night, tears, burning buildings, broken bodies, deserts with no water and twisted dead trees and hills and hills of endless sand....._

She walked over to the window to look out at the ebb and flow of the traffic and pedestrians on the Strip. She crossed her arms across her body in that protective gesture she was unaware of making, that holding in of all the tension and craziness she felt. For a moment she fervently wished she could be just another tourist there on vacation, just another person there to be drawn in and glitzed by the elegant facade of it all.

_But the sequins and neon don't work on me anymore, sadly. And I know all the castles are papier mache, or whatever the hell the concrete equivalent of that is. And I can't just go downstairs and pretend that under the glittery surface everything is okay right now. _

She heard the muted chime of the elevator doors and she turned with relief to see John Patrick coming in. He would know what to do. He always knew best what to do.

---

Marshall twirled a pencil idly in his long fingers watching another officer leaving Dailey's office. It was getting late in the day, and he'd still not been called in. It was hard not to feel bitter.

_I have to keep remembering my situation here. I'm still a new face in this office, and it's going to take some time for them to get to know me. Dailey isn't like my old boss was, not in nature or in experience with me, and all that stuff between the covers of my service record is just ink on paper without his trust. _

Some small part of Marshall, though, before it was ruthlessly squelched, cried out about what the ink on that paper said about his years of impeccable service, the number of criminals he'd helped bring in, the difficulty of some of the cases he'd been involved in.....

Marshall sighed and shook his head.

_I'm just going to have to pay my dues here, it looks like. And I can do that._

That other little voice chimed in somewhat angrily: _...yeah, since there's no other damn choice...._

---

"Tom Gray, you say? Whatever is he doing back here? I thought the two of you parted under, shall we say, less than friendly circumstances."

Mary smiled at John Patrick over the rim of her cup of steaming green tea. John Patrick had been meeting her for lunch, and so they were having Japanese food with their conversation.

"If you're referring to his trying to double-cross me on that last big job we pulled and my method of paying him back for that, then yes, I was as surprised as you were to see him again. Stranding a person naked on a roadside in rush hour traffic isn't usually the sort of thing that a person forgives and forgets." Mary used her chopsticks to grab a bit of her donburi neatly, still amused at and deeply satisfied by the memory of Tom's face in the rearview mirror as she accelerated away from him. "Maybe he figured we were even. I don't pretend to know what goes on in that head of his."

John Patrick snorted. "If anything." He eyed her speculatively. "So, tell me. Did you promise him that you'd go on a run with him?"

Mary's smile faded and she lifted the teacup again, held it between her hands to feel the comforting warm seep through the pottery. "Damn, J.P., couldn't you at least pretend to dance around it, sometimes?"

John Patrick continued to gaze at her. He leaned slightly forward. "My girl, I decided long ago life is too short to spend it dancing around unless dancing is the point at hand. But don't think you'll elude me. Did you promise Gray you'd do a job with him?"

"And if I did?" She brought her eyes up from the steam gently curling from the cup to meet those eyes, so like her own, across the table. Her expression remained calm, blank, giving away nothing.

John Patrick was still for a moment more, and then he reached for his own beverage, a glass of ice water, and took a sip. He sat it back down in exactly the same place it had been lifted from on the wooden tabletop without ever looking at it. "Then you are making a foolish mistake, Mary Shannon. And quite frankly, I expect better of you than that."

---

Marshall had resigned himself to staying. It was a quarter to the end of his shift, and still, he'd not been called in for a briefing as a member of the tri-state team. He'd even begun to convince himself it was for the best.

_This will give me some time to really get to know Dailey. Maybe he'll let me do some local runs. There really won't be any other choice with everybody else out like this. And, anyway, I think he said he wanted to be sure of me 100% physically, too, so that's probably a reason why I'm not going just now. I'll probably get to go on the next one for sure. Ultimately, it's better not to push it. _

_Plus there's Mary. How would she feel if I were suddenly up and gone for two weeks? I mean, she's always known that my job was there, but we've never had to deal with this aspect of it since we've been together. She and I will have more time to get used to me being back at work before something big like this comes up and...._

Dailey's voice cut through his reverie. "Mann. Need you in my office, please."

Marshall jumped, startled. His heart was racing just a little with adrenaline as he grabbed a notepad and headed for Dailey's office. He tried desperately not to get his hopes up. Probably it wasn't an assignment for the task force, and there was no point in getting enthusiastic and then getting shot down.

---

Mary watched Marshall packing clothes into a huge black duffel, and she tried very hard to ignore the uncomfortable mixture of things she was feeling. She was happy to see him moving with that same purpose and power she'd known him with when they'd first met, that spark that had flickered a bit after his capture by Raph. He was that almost that man who had chased her down that alley, fearless, bold, relentless, again.

A part of her was already starting to miss him, already wanting him back before he'd left. This would be the first time since they had come together truly that they would be apart. She knew she loved him and that he loved her and that they were strong enough to endure this separation, but the thought of two weeks' worth of empty pillows and dark dreams for companionship made her feel sad and a little anxious. Would he miss her, too, or would he be so wrapped up in the chase that he wouldn't notice? She wasn't going to ask. It was too high school girlfriend.....

A third part, a part she was trying desperately to pretend did not exist at all, was simply, humanly, horribly jealous. It wailed and kicked its feet in anguish as Marshall loaded the tools of his trade in his gear bag, as he checked and rechecked, as he prepared to spread his wings and fly. It flapped own cramped wings against the walls of a self-imposed cage and asked her _Why? Why? Why him and not me? _so stridently and so much that she was afraid Marshall would be able to hear it himself in a moment.

"So.... two weeks, huh?"

Marshall turned to her and pushed back an errant lock of hair that fell over his forehead. "That's what Dailey said. These things usually have a set duration, but it might run more or less, depending." A jubilant grin broke out face, and he stopped packing to come across the room to where she perched against the dresser and take her hands. He pulled her into his arms and he kissed her hard and fast before spinning them both around in a giddy little circle.

Mary couldn't resist his happiness, and she laughed at him and wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on. "You idiot. What the hell are you doing?"

He kissed her again lightly and let her go. "Sorry. That was my official happy dance. I've been holding that in since Dailey told me I was going."

"Feels good to be back in the saddle, huh?"

"You have no idea."

_You're wrong about that, Marshall. You're just wrong. But now is not the time to have this discussion. Not when you're packing a bag to leave for two weeks and your eyes are shining like the starry night sky._

She watched him finishing his packing, checking and double-checking his mental list, and finally he pulled the top closed with the double zippers with a satisfied sigh. He hefted the large bag and sat it near the door.

"Done and done. I'm ready to go."

_And I'm going to have to let you go. With all of me. So..._

"All your prep finished then? Nothing left to take care of before your two-week departure? No item left unchecked on that list? Nothing else that might need...tending to?" She continued to lean against the dresser, ankles crossed, the picture of ease.

He blinked at her, a little confused.

"N-no...I don't think so."

She saw him going over the list in his head, could practically hear him. She pushed off the dresser with her hands and sauntered across the room toward him, a slow, deliberate approach. His eyes snapped to her, and she saw the light of understanding dawn.

"Oh..."

"Mmm...yeah. Oh. Two weeks is a long time, Marshall." She was close to him now, standing with less than a handsbreadth between them, but she did not touch him.

"You're right. It is a very long time." His voice was husky, and his eyes dropped down to her mouth and back up to her eyes.

"So you want to make sure you take care of... everything... properly before you go." She trailed her index finger lightly along the buttons of his shirtfront, keeping her eyes fastened to his. "Some things take time to attend to the right way, you know. Lots of little details. And some things don't keep well, especially not for two whole weeks."

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. He smiled as he did, that wicked light she loved so much dancing in his darkened eyes. "You're absolutely right. How careless of me. I'll see to... that... right now."

---

Mary lay staring at the play of morning light on the ceiling. The bedding was a tangled mess, and to be honest, she wasn't exactly sure just where the other pillow had wound up, but she'd recovered enough after Marshall had left to make a warm little nest and pull it across her as she'd dozed off. Now, hours later, she was awake and her brain was back in gear.

_Damn. I wish I could bottle what that man does to me and take it when needed._

She grinned a little at the thought of Marshall Mann as a drug. _Even if I could do it, I'd still be too greedy to let anybody have even a drop of that. Because, let's face it, I need it all... the... time. _She stretched like a large, satisfied cat, and contemplated getting up.

Her good mood slowly faded as she thought about the two Marshall-less weeks stretching in front of her, of her conversations with John Patrick and Thea about staying away from Tom Gray, of her continuing confusion about her place in the world now.

_Get up to do what? Get up to call Tom Gray or my crew? Get up to schlep around this hotel room? To become a devotee of daytime TV? To God-forbid go shopping all day? To haunt J.P.'s office all day? To sign up for unemployment? To learn how to paint velvet Elvii? What the hell am I supposed to do now?_

She pounded her hand on the mattress beside her.

_That's enough. That's enough pity. It's time to get up from here and do **something**._

She rolled to her side and grabbed her phone. She looked down a long moment at the picture it displayed as wallpaper, a photo Thea had taken of her and Marshall. Then she made a brief call, made the arrangements for the meeting, and when she got in the hot water spray of the large shower a short time later, she felt many things, but the greatest of them was a sense of satisfaction. She'd made a choice, and for now, this was the one she was going to live with.

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**Question, comment, or statement? That's what the button is for. Love to you all.**


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